by Andrew Grey
“McDonalds. Like on TV?” Pavle asked with a grin.
It wasn’t Chris’s favorite place, but if Pavle wanted to try, that was fine with him. “I can go through the drive-through and we can eat back here.” It was safer, with less chance of them being seen. Chris didn’t want to deny Pavle one of the few things he’d asked for.
“Okay.” Pavle returned his attention to his drawing and then closed the sketch pad and held it to himself as he stood and went outside to sit in the sun. Chris watched him through the window as Pavle turned his face upward.
Briggs was right; he needed to remember that Pavle was a charge under his protection, a professional relationship, and he wasn’t supposed to develop feelings for him. But, fucking hell, it was too late and Chris already knew it. He’d take a bullet for Pavle without a second thought. God, he was so screwed.
Chris went upstairs and showered. He dressed casually so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself or Pavle, then got Pavle.
“What will they ask?” Concern filled Pavle’s eyes, and his posture was rigid after he came back inside.
“Probably much of the same things that the Carlisle Police did. Just be truthful as you can. That’s all anyone expects of you.”
Pavle nodded. “You be there?”
“If that’s what you want. I will try.” Chris wasn’t sure if he would be allowed to be in the room, but he intended to press for it. Pavle needed someone there who was on his side and looking out for him. Of course, Marie would be there as well, but he didn’t know if they’d allow her to stay either. “Are you ready to go?”
Pavle nodded. “They help me?” he asked more softly this time.
Chris would have loved to say yes, these people would help him, but the truth was they had their own agenda. The FBI were great law enforcement officers, but their perspective could be one-sided, and that wasn’t necessarily going to be the best one for Pavle. “They are good people. But I will always help you if I can.”
Pavle walked toward the door. “I know you help me.” He continued looking outside. “You are nice to me, and I like you for that.”
Chris had no idea what to say. He decided to go for what he thought was safe. “I like you too.”
Pavle locked his gaze on Chris’s, and Chris couldn’t move, mesmerized by the flash of innocence in Pavle’s eyes. On the surface it seemed ridiculous to think of Pavle as innocent after what he’d been through, but he was in some ways, and Pavle deserved to keep that for as long as possible.
“We go now?” Pavle asked.
Chris nodded and handed him the jacket he now thought of as Pavle’s. They headed out to the car, and Chris drove them to the courthouse. They went in the back entrance, through security, and up to one of the conference rooms.
Marie stood outside the door and greeted Pavle and Chris as a man stepped into the hall.
“I’m Special Agent Griffith.” He shook hands with all three of them.
“Deputy Chris Anducci. And this is Marie Foster and Pavle Kasun,” Chris said as they shook hands.
“Please come in.” Agent Griffith opened the door and revealed another agent standing in the corner. “This is Agent Butler. She will be taking notes for us and she speaks Serbian, so she will be able to translate should the need arise.” He motioned to the table and waited for Pavle to sit, then let Marie take the chair next to Pavle. Chris sat against the wall next to Agent Butler.
Agent Butler made a brief introduction in Serbian.
“Mr. Kasun, we’re here to discover what happened to you and try to catch the people who did this to you.”
“Chris tell me.” Pavle leaned forward, placing his pad on the table.
“What is that?” Agent Griffith asked.
“Pavle likes to draw, and I gave him the tablet,” Chris said for context. “He wanted to bring it with him, and I didn’t think it would do any harm.”
“I bring because is important.” Pavle opened the cover. The portrait of a man stared out from the paper. “This is man who brought me here.” He turned to Chris. “In New-ark.” He turned the next page. “This man who sell me.” He stared at his own drawing, curling his lip upward. “He mean and hit. Bring me here. Called Pauley.” Pavle went through the book, page after page, explaining who each person was and what they had done to him.
Chris had had no idea about the drawings and was spellbound, but more by Pavle than the story he told. Anger and indignation rose inside him to the point that his cheeks heated and he gripped the arm of the chair so tightly, he was actually pulling the wood apart. He was supposed to remain detached and professional, but that was impossible with Pavle and the story he told. He’d known what people went through in this situation—he’d seen case studies—but to hear it in first person made his blood boil.
Agent Griffith was smart enough to let Pavle speak, and only asked questions when he needed more detail or clarification. Chris knew Pavle’s drawings were like a gift for Agent Griffith.
“This is man who… use me as slave…,” Pavle said as he turned the final page. “He keep me locked in house and….” Pavle didn’t have the words, so he switched to Serbian.
The rest of the story was highly graphic, and more than once bile rose in Chris’s throat. He wanted to beat the hell out of this worm, but he sat still and quiet, seething with each revelation and detail. The only thing easing the way was that the English words came from Agent Butler rather than Pavle himself, but the toll the ordeal was taking on Pavle showed clearly as his cheeks paled and his eyes hollowed, the light Chris had seen in them the last few days going out completely. Chris flexed his hands, heart racing. The arm of the chair ripped upward, and he held the wood with spindles dangling from it. Embarrassed, he set it on the floor.
“Do you need a few minutes?” Agent Griffith asked. Lord knew Chris did, and Pavle had to need a break. “Agent Butler, would you please get everyone something to drink? I’d like to continue, but a few minutes’ pause might be in order.”
Pavle stood and closed his notebook, leaving it on the table. “This for you. I no want it,” he told Agent Griffith. “I give to you.” He passed the book across the table and took a deep breath, then came over to sit in the chair next to Chris. “I good?”
“You were amazing,” Chris told him, wondering where Pavle had gotten the strength to describe those acts and how he was treated.
Pavle smiled and leaned against Chris’s arm, staying close. Damn, that felt good, and Marie nodded and smiled at him. It seemed she approved.
“Can you go on and answer more questions?” Chris put an arm around him, meaning it for comfort, but Pavle leaned closer, resting against him.
“I answer,” he whispered.
“Do you need a few more minutes?” he asked, and Pavle nodded, shaking a little. Not that Chris could blame him for a second.
“I brought him some water,” Agent Butler said, coming back into the room.
“Juice?” Pavle asked.
Chris chuckled. “Pavle has developed a real taste for grape or orange juice.”
Marie pushed her chair back. “There’s some in one of the machines on the upper floor. I’ll get some and come right back.” Chris noticed that she wiped her eyes as she left the room.
Agent Griffith sat back down, watching them with a slight scowl. “I have to ask what this is about.” He tilted his head in their direction.
“Deputy Chris is nice to me.” Pavle scratched his head. “I need strong, and he strong for me.” He sat back up and returned to the table. “You ask questions now.”
In those few seconds and with four words, Pavle showed just how strong he truly was, enough for Chris to know that what strength he had paled in comparison. He forced himself to settle down even as he prepared himself to hear the answers to Agent Griffith’s questions.
WHAT FELT like hours later, he, Pavle, and Marie left the room.
“That was….” Marie seemed unable to finish her sentence, and all Chris could do was nod.
&nbs
p; “I told you I shame,” Pavle said, not looking at either of them.
“You are not,” Marie argued. “You are strong. You did what you needed to survive. Both FBI people said so. I say so. Chris says so.”
If Chris ever needed help, he wanted her on his side. Marie was one tough cookie.
“No shame?” Pavle asked, blinking.
“No. No shame.” She gathered him into her arms. “You are not to be ashamed. You are strong, and what you told them will help a lot of people. They will get those men because of you. I know it. And then you will have helped, and…. Regardless, you have no shame.”
Pavle nodded and stepped back once Marie released him. They left the courthouse, standing on the sidewalk in the afternoon sun.
“I promised Pavle lunch when we were done, and he asked to go to McDonald’s. He likes their commercials.”
“I need to get back to my office, but you two have a good lunch.” She shook their hands, then headed across the street.
“This way.” Chris led Pavle around the side of the building, back to his car, and then headed to lunch. Chris used the drive-through, and since Pavle didn’t know what was what, Chris ordered a variety of things for him to try and then headed for home.
He was surprised to see Nanna’s old Oldsmobile parked in front of the house. She’d had that car for decades, though nowadays it sat in the garage most of the time. The white car was well on its way to becoming a classic and had just over 20,000 miles on it after all these years.
“Nanna’s here,” Pavle said with delight, and hurried through the backyard as soon as Chris had closed the overhead door. Chris grabbed the food and followed to find his grandmother in the kitchen, waiting at the table. She tsked as soon as she saw the bags, and Chris was grateful he’d gotten extra food. So, after setting out plates, they all dug in, with Nanna scarfing down the chicken nuggets. Who would have thought?
Pavle and Nanna chattered, this time somewhat reservedly. Nanna listened and asked questions, at least he assumed so from the inflection. When Nanna hugged Pavle tightly, whispering softly as she rocked him, Chris knew he’d come to the end of the story.
“No guilt, no shame.”
Pavle nodded and blinked. “I man now. I be strong.”
“You already have been,” Chris told him, pushing his plate away. His stomach rebelled as he remembered Pavle’s story being related by Agent Butler.
Pavle finished his juice and stood to leave the room, heading toward the bathroom.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Nanna told him once Pavle was gone. “You need to eat and be strong for him. What happened, happened, and you can’t change it no matter how much you wish it were possible. But you can help determine how easily Pavle is able to recover. He’s going to have to tell this story over and over again, to more police, in court… you know that.”
“That’s true.” And there was little Chris could do about that.
“Then make it as easy on him as possible. That’s what you need to do.” She leaned closer. “He’s pulling some of his strength from you, so you need to be strong. When you react, it falls back on him.”
Chris picked up a french fry and dropped it on his plate again. Food just didn’t taste good right now. “What do you mean?”
Nanna shook her head. “If you get upset, then he sees that and it makes him upset. He watches you pretty closely and takes his cues from you. Remember that a lot of communication is nonverbal. So be strong.” She dunked one of her nuggets in mustard sauce and returned to her lunch. Dammit, she was right, and Chris did need to be strong. There was a lot at stake here, and he had to be there for him. “Now, what happened today?”
Chris gave her a short recap before Pavle returned and sat back down.
“Chris tells me that you can draw,” Nanna said, and Pavle nodded. “Do you draw more than people?”
“I draw anything. My mama wanted me to be doctor. I want to be artist.” He smiled. “She not happy. But I win and she let me. I draw her pictures.” Pavle lowered his gaze to the table, and Chris glanced at Nanna to see if she saw his sadness too.
“When did she die?” Nanna asked.
“Before I come here,” Pavle answered. “No one left so I want come here for future. I stupid and believed men, paid them all money have.” He sighed. “Now got nothing.”
Chris was speechless, and it seemed so was Nanna. She turned away, wiping her eyes with the corner of her napkin. “How did you get away?” Nanna asked.
“Police save me,” Pavle said.
Chris shook his head. “Pavle somehow got a note to the neighbors, and they called the police.”
Pavle swallowed. “See only little out window. Next house dark all the time, so nothing to see. I all alone for long time. Then lights and people. Little person in room. I see them. They happy. I watch.” He chewed on his lower lip. “Master bring food and forget….” He lifted one of the utensils.
“A spoon?” Chris asked.
“Yes. He leave spoon. I rub smaller and turned to open window.” He made circular motions, like turning a tool. “I open window and close again.” Pavle became excited. “Then it get warm and child window open. I write note and make window open.”
It took Chris a few moments to fully understand. “Your window had been screwed shut and you opened it with the spoon?” Pavle had fashioned his own screwdriver to loosen the screws in the window. Chris could imagine him working quickly so he wouldn’t be caught.
“Yes. I open window and throw note into house, then close window tight.” Pavle made the circular motion again in the opposite direction. “Then I pray. Lots of pray. I ask The Lady to save me.” He sighed. “I wait days. Then police come.” He shrugged and returned to his lunch.
Everything about Pavle amazed him. After years of being held captive and listening to people tell him that his situation was his own fault, Pavle had the strength and will to try to facilitate his own rescue. That took a hell of a lot of courage.
Pavle moved his chair around to sit next to Chris. “I no want talk anymore,” he said softly and leaned against Chris’s arm. “Can we be quiet now?”
“Yes. We can be quiet.” Chris began to eat slowly, knowing Nanna was watching the two of them together. A smile crept onto her lips as she finished her lunch and slowly stood. She patted Chris’s shoulder lightly before heading to the living room.
Chris wound his arm around Pavle’s shoulders, cradling him closer. If Pavle wanted comfort, Chris was going to give everything he had, even though he knew he shouldn’t be allowing himself to grow this close, and he definitely shouldn’t be allowing his heart to get involved. But it seemed it already was whether Chris wanted to allow it or not.
Chapter 5
THE FOLLOWING morning, Chris slowed the car in front of the building where Pavle had been found. He’d left Pavle at home with Nanna so they could talk privately for a little while, which gave him the chance to take a look at the place. After hearing Pavle’s story, he needed to see it for himself, and he wasn’t going to bring Pavle back here. Chris intended to spare him as much pain as he could.
He parked in the open community space in back and got out at the white two-story house with peeling paint and sagging eaves. It might have been nice once, but it was sad and forlorn now, windows boarded up and police tape flapping in the breeze. Chris walked up and along the side of the house, his gaze sliding upward until a blackened window came into view. He clenched his fists as he realized that was where Pavle had been held. He returned to the front as a Carlisle Police vehicle pulled to a stop behind his car.
“Hey, Red, Carter.” He shook both men’s hands. “Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem,” Red said, handing him a pair of gloves. The last thing Chris wanted to do was disturb anything that might be evidence. Red unlocked the door and pushed it open. “The place has been thoroughly gone over.” They turned to where Carter sat in the car as backup and then went inside.
Chris crinkled his nose as he stepped in
side, the foul, sour air assaulting his senses. “Wow.”
“The building has been condemned. Even though it’s in the historic district, the borough doesn’t think it’s salvageable. There’s mold all through the walls, and it would be impossible to abate it,” Red explained. “The roof has been leaking for a long time, through some of the walls and even weakening the foundation,” he added. “We need to be careful of weak spots in the floors.”
He led the way to a dismal staircase and up to a dark landing that would have been at home in an old Dracula movie. The door to Pavle’s room stood open, and Chris approached it with trepidation—not that he expected to find anything helpful or some ghost waiting there. The room was dark, a sliver of light shining in at the edge of the blackened window.
“Did you find a tool made out of a spoon?” Chris asked. “Pavle used it as a screwdriver to open the window.” He stepped inside, and the walls seemed to close in around him. He tried to imagine being kept here for months or years, and the thought, combined with the smell, nearly made him sick.
“Yes,” Red answered. “It was in a loose floorboard under where he slept. It’s in evidence right now.” He paused briefly. “We’ve left things we didn’t take for evidence the way they were. The blankets were folded like that at the foot of the… on the floor.” To call what Pavle had slept on a bed was a huge stretch. More like a thin gray pad on bare wood.
Chris went to the window to peer out. He had to see Pavle’s view of the world. It was only the house next door. “Let’s go.” There was nothing else in the otherwise empty room. Not even carpet to cover the scarred, splintering wooden floors.
“Pretty dismal,” Red said softly. “How is he doing?”
“Pavle is strong, and he’s figuring things out. Taking it day by day, and I think that’s the most any of us can ask.” Chris left the room and went outside into the morning air, breathing deeply just to cleanse his lungs of the foulness. He looked toward the house next door. “Those must be the people who found Pavle’s note.” He carefully descended the front stairs and looked up and down the block, trying to get a better feel for the neighborhood. “What do you know about this area?” Chris asked, turning to Red.