A Step to Nowhere

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  Inga relaxed from the heat and from the rain dancing on the window; she leaned into the seat and closed her eyes. She felt safe.

  “I can’t believe I escaped,” she mumbled. “I thought I was dreaming. A bad, bad dream. I pretended that entire nightmare was not real.”

  “Did they … beat you?”

  “Many times, yes.”

  Inga was surprised how easy she could talk about it, answer questions. As easy as if she had been chatting about the latest movie. And she wanted to sleep. Her head became heavy, her eyelids refused to stay open, her body relaxed. She hadn’t once slept through the night during the last few weeks.

  “What date is it today?” she asked.

  “November twenty-third.”

  “I went to the mall on the first.”

  “You can fall asleep; we have another fifteen minutes to go,” Alman said. “Everything will be fine. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

  Inga heard the last words from somewhere far away; they were muffled. She thanked him, but there were blue and yellow spirals in front of her eyes. She fell into sleep like she was falling into a deep well. For the first time in three weeks, she fell into a calm sleep. She knew that now, when she woke up, no one would fall on top of her before she was completely awake.

  Chapter 3

  “Inga? Inga! Wake up.”

  She was startled and opened her eyes. She expected to see Eagle, or Drake, or some fat dude unzipping his pants, but instead she saw the face of the stranger who had saved her. What was his name? Alan? No, Alman. His name was Alman. Strange name for a guy with dark-blond hair and hazel eyes. He said it was the name of his grandfather even though she didn’t ask, and it was strange to mention considering the circumstances.

  The rain had stopped. Alman still sat in the car, looking at her. The door on his side was open. Inga looked outside and saw a wall of trees. On the left there was a shed-like structure. A door with loose wooden boards dropped on one side. There was a pitchfork and a spade by the wall.

  A house stood on the right. Pretty big, old, brick, the windows covered with white curtains. A house like any house, nothing special. Probably stood apart from a small town. Who knew? Not her for sure.

  “You can get out,” said the young man with the simple face and not-so-simple name.

  Holding her shirt with one hand, Inga opened the car door with the other and stepped out onto the ground. Pain from her injured feet flew through her body like an arrow; cold wind grasped her wet hair and seeped under her shirt. Inga’s teeth chattered from the cold. She wanted to cry from pain while she walked to the house. She tried not to step on her whole foot, just on the sides, but it didn’t help much.

  There was the aroma of fresh baking in the house, striped rugs on the floor, and the walls were covered with flowery wallpaper. Almost like my house, Inga thought. She cried again, couldn’t help herself, but now from happiness.

  “Can I call my mom?” she asked, swallowing her tears.

  “Oh,” Alman said. He shook his head, looking ashamed. “We don’t have a phone here. Too far for a connection. But tomorrow we will go into the town half an hour from here. It’s called Quiet River. It’s a small town but it has a sheriff and phones. We can’t go now. It’s dark, far, and I’m too tired.”

  “I understand.”

  Inga heard steps behind her back. Alman’s facial expression changed, but Inga couldn’t tell what it meant. She turned away from the guy and saw a middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a pink terry cloth robe; white slippers with bunny ears were on her feet. Her red hair was cut short. She wore glasses and held a rolling pin covered in flour in her hand. The woman’s face seemed kind even though she didn’t smile.

  “This is Inga, Mom. She’ll be spending the night here.”

  The woman observed Inga from head to toe and then smiled.

  “Sure,” she said.

  Not a question was asked about the girl’s strange appearance, her almost naked body, or her bare feet smeared in blood, about her scratched face, or the fact it was the girl’s first time in the house, but still she was going to spend the night. It was as if there was nothing surprising in this situation, as if it happened every day. Inga didn’t question it. She was deeply grateful and too exhausted to think. This family enjoyed helping people; that was what Alman had said.

  “Mom, Inga is going to sleep in our empty room.”

  Inga noticed that Alman’s voice changed slightly. It introduced hardness, like his mother was arguing with him even though she didn’t show any sign of opposition.

  He emphasized the word empty and Inga wondered why. She also wondered why his mother’s smile twitched, practically disappearing before coming back again. Her eyes narrowed for a second.

  “Inga will go to that room now, Momma. And I think she’d appreciate a hot dinner.”

  “Oh, no, no, no! I’m not hungry,” Inga said and turned to Alman.

  He just nodded.

  “I’m sure my mom already has dinner ready. So there’s no trouble.”

  “Yes, sure,” his mother said.

  Inga didn’t know this woman, but though she was not happy (and why would she be?), she kept smiling and the expression in her eyes didn’t change.

  “I have groceries in the car,” Alman told her and turned to Inga. “Let’s go,” he said.

  He walked into the depths of a dark hallway and gesturing for her to follow him. She did so, going past the kitchen, where she noticed an elderly man sitting at the table. He paid no attention to her and continued reading a magazine. Next was a living room, where Inga saw the nape of a redheaded person sitting in an armchair in front of the TV. The door to the next room was closed and Alman stopped in front of it. He pulled a key out of his pocket and stuck it in the lock.

  Inga, feeling as though she had been struck by lightning, clenched her fists and took a step back.

  The door into her room/cell was always locked.

  Alman couldn’t know what was going on in her head and didn’t notice her condition. He pushed the door open, took the key out of the lock, and held it out to her. Inga held out her hand, enfolding the key, and observed with amusement how the little piece of metal touched her palm. She was free. She could go in and out whenever she wanted.

  Alman entered the room, snapped the switch, and a bright light blinded Inga for a moment.

  “Come in,” the guy called.

  She unwillingly moved her eyes from the key, squeezed it in her hand, and took a step into the room. It wasn’t empty as she had imagined. There was a twin bed with a neatly spread blue cover; there was the same striped rug as in the hallway. A picture of a little girl and a dog hung on the wall above the bed. By a window covered with thick blue curtains stood a table and a couple of simple wooden chairs. Even though the room didn’t have any other furniture it still looked cozy, homey. Inga looked at the bed. She could sleep there as long as she wanted. Tomorrow she was going to wake up — alone — and call her mom.

  “I think my sister has some clothes in your size. I’ll get something of hers for you to change into.”

  Inga turned to Alman.

  “I’m going to bring you antiseptic and bandages,” he said and pointed to her feet. “You can take a hot shower if you want.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Alman smiled for the first time since they’d been together.

  “I’ll see what my mom made for dinner. I think it’s soup with dumplings. Do you like soup with dumplings?”

  “Love it,” Inga said, remembering hard, cold macaroni and burned burgers that she had eaten in the house of terror. She had vomited the first time but then she got used to it.

  Alman nodded and left the room, closing the door behind.

  Inga walked to the bed, sat down, put her hands at her sides, and looked around until Alman came back with a bowl of steaming soup. Inga jumped up when he knocked. He put the bowl on the table, with a spoon beside it, along with two pieces of bread. H
e told her to enjoy her meal and left again. He promised to come back soon.

  Inga heard a high-pitched girly voice but couldn’t make out the words and she didn’t try to. She attacked the soup, hurriedly swallowing, and had almost finished eating by the time Alman returned for the last time that night. He had a pile of clean clothes. On top of it she saw bandages, a small bottle of antiseptic, and cotton balls inside a plastic bag.

  “Here’s everything you need,” he said. “Bathroom is in the hallway on the left. The white door; I’ll leave it open.”

  “Thank you very much,” Inga said, swallowing soup.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Alman shifted from one foot to the other by the door like he wanted to say something else. Inga waited impatiently, holding her breath. She expected him to say that now she had to pay for everything. And better to do it with her body.

  “Good night,” he said and left the room.

  Inga exhaled and closed her eyes. He just was a kind, caring young man, and she was unusually lucky today. He helped her with no conditions and she … Could she trust someone after everything that had happened to her? Could she trust men again?

  Soup warmed her inside, but her stomach was awake and angry after the smell of food stole into her nostrils. It was asking for more. Inga persuaded herself not to think about anything bad, opened her eyes, and helped herself to the rest of the soup, wiping the bottom with a piece of bread. Then she checked the clothes and discovered sweatpants, a T-shirt, new underwear, socks, and a white towel at the bottom.

  Inga hung the towel over her shoulder, grabbed the clothes, bandages and antiseptic, and opened the door.

  The hallway was empty. The sound of a TV came from the living room. It looked as though the whole family was there, because the lights were off in the other rooms as far as she could see. Inga walked to the bathroom on her tiptoes to not draw attention to herself. She sat on the edge of the ceramic bathtub and investigated her feet. They were cut and scratched. Inga imagined how painful it would be to wash them, but could this pain compare to what she had been through? Never. This pain was even going to be pleasant, because it was for her own good.

  Inga examined the bathroom. It looked like any other despite the isolation of the house. White tile, a white sink, a bathtub, a plush rug on the floor. Inga stepped in the shower and turned the water to hot, so her skin would barely tolerate it. She closed her eyes, enjoying the heat spreading through her body. Her muscles relaxed, and peace and calmness entered her heart.

  When Inga left the shower, she wiped herself with a towel and poured antiseptic over her feet, clenching her teeth to stop herself from shouting. She thought the hair on her head was moving from pain. She applied bandages to her cuts (thankfully they were not too deep) and put the socks on. The clothes fit as if they were bought for her. Before leaving the bathroom, Inga looked in the mirror. The swelling was almost gone from her left eye but it was red from broken capillaries. A faded bruise was on one of her cheeks, scratches all over her face, and a scar on her forehead from Eagle’s chain.

  Inga sighed and returned to the room. The dirty bowl was gone.

  She took the cover off the bed, folded it neatly, and put it on the chair. She didn’t have pajamas so she went to bed in the clothes she had on. She wanted to lock the room but thought her hosts might get upset; they might think she didn’t trust them, so she decided against it. She opened the door a little bit to see if they had gone to bed and heard muffled conversation.

  “She needs help, Momma,” the guy said. There was metal in his voice even though he talked quietly, maybe fearing that his guest would overhear.

  “It’s a very strange situation,” his mother said.

  “I want her to stay.”

  “Okay, she stays. How do you see all of this working?”

  “My brother’s insane,” a young voice said. It was Alman’s sister, who was possibly younger than Inga.

  “Stop it,” her brother said. “Talk quieter.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Momma, she’s asking for it.”

  “Stop, both of you. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “Momma, when have I asked you for anything?”

  “All the time,” the woman said.

  “Oh, come on!”

  “Dylan, why are you quiet?” the woman asked.

  “Huh?” the man sounded lost.

  “As usual. Flying somewhere.” The woman didn’t sound happy.

  “Mom, please,” the voice begged.

  “Son.”

  “Momma.”

  “Okay! I don’t want to talk about it. She can stay now, but we’ll see. We’ll see.”

  The conversation seemed finished and Inga closed the door. She stood by it for a few minutes rethinking about locking it, but then dropped that idea and went to bed. She pulled a blanket to her chin and lay with her eyes open, listening to sounds from the hallway. The room was absolutely dark. There was not a single lamp outside. Even the moon hid behind the clouds, so it wouldn’t disturb people who were trying to sleep. The TV in a room down the hall kept playing, and Inga heard quiet voices again, talking or arguing.

  Inga was grateful for her rescue but felt bad. Because of her this nice guy was arguing with his parents. Well, he argued with his mom, but wasn’t it enough? The sense of guilt went away though and was replaced with euphoria. She had been kidnapped and sold for sex, but she escaped and avoided the shared fate of the other people who would never leave that damn house. Of course the thought darkened her extended sensation of happiness, but Inga believed she could find the house of terror and end its existence for good. Eagle, Drake, and their team, including Bitch, would pay for what they did to her. Of course they would escape the pain and humiliation they caused their slaves, but at least they would be behind bars if fate wished (like Inga believed in fate anymore) and maybe get their share of torture. She wanted them to suffer, even though before she had been kidnapped, she couldn’t imagine wishing something like that on her worst enemy.

  Inga searched the darkness, trying to think about what was going to happen next. She thought how she would enter the sheriff’s office tomorrow and tell him about all the terrible things that happened in that old, forgotten motel. She thought how the sheriff would go there with his team before the criminals found out and closed the spot. She thought about the phone call to her mom and hearing her voice. First disbelief, then crazy happiness. Inga saw the white fence by her house that she hated so much just a few weeks ago. She couldn’t wait to see it now. She dreamed about entering her mom’s house, about getting into her bed and hugging her favorite brown bear, and looking outside at the old oak tree with the swing on its branch that hadn’t been used for years. Her dad had made it when she and her sister were little girls, and her mom didn’t want to take it down. When her husband of twenty-eight years died, she wanted to keep everything he had made.

  A few weeks ago Inga wanted to leave all of it. She was attracted to the lights of the movie capital of America. She wanted a taste of the bright life. She had tried it, only it was different than she had imagined. Like something she had heard on the news and thought it could never happen to her.

  Inga believed that she could forget all of it. Maybe some of the girls would need therapy or even need to spend time in the hospital, putting their lives together, but not her. She was strong and she could get over it. She could start her life anew. She would lick her soul’s scars like a cat, close her eyes on those that stayed on her body, and just live. Like a girl of twenty-three, finishing college. New friends, new work, and an old city that seemed so attractive now.

  She closed her eyes. The sounds behind the door started to fade, and the silence swallowed the house along with darkness. Inga started to sink into sleep slowly, like an apprehensive swimmer diving into cold water, periodically jumping out of it to draw a choking breath. She was afraid to awaken and learn that everything was just a dream, born from her exhausted mind. The tiredness w
as strong, and Inga slowly but surely let it take her to a place of forgotten fear, to a place of pink elephants and purple bunnies.

  Chapter 4

  Screams. Somebody was screaming. Screams of pain. Agony. A woman’s voice. Some woman was screaming in deadly agony.

  Inga’s eyes opened. Deadly silence and darkness. No sounds, not even a clock ticking or the roar of a far away car. Nothing. Where was she? What was happening? Faces of her torturers appeared in front of her, but the memory of the last few hours pushed its way back into her thoughts. She was not in the house of terror. She escaped and was saved. She was in the house of a family that let her stay for one night and nothing threatened her life here.

  Inga pushed the blanket away, put her legs down and, holding onto the wall, walked to the place where she thought she would find a light switch. She found it, flipped it up, and closed her eyes against the brightness of the light.

  When her eyes adapted, she saw the table, two chairs, the bed, and a picture on the wall. She wasn’t dreaming. She was really saved and she was in the house of a noble man named Alman. Then who was screaming? It seemed that somebody was screaming close by. Here. Nightmare? Did she have a nightmare?

  “Of course I was dreaming. It was a nightmare.”

  Inga sighed with relief but it wasn’t a real relief. How long was she going to wake up like this? Trying to figure out where she was? She didn’t want to think about it now. She turned the light off and went back to bed. The air in the room became colder, but the blanket saved her heat and it immediately warmed her shaking body.

  She probably had a dream about the house of the terror; the scream from the girl who wasn’t lucky. In fact she was very, very unlucky.

  Inga was unlucky only once; thank whoever needed to be thanked. The skinny guy, with hollow cheeks and a big nose looked shy and harmless, before he tied her to the bed. Inga was sure she would not survive another round like that. She was sure that she would die from pain, from the inability to fight back, desperation, humiliation, from simple understanding that her life was nothing. From simple understanding that after entering that house, she had ceased to be called a human being.