by Robin King
Suddenly he jerked and grabbed at my arm with a strong grip. “The briefcase . . .” he managed to whisper. “Exchange . . .” His grip on my arm loosened until his hand fell limp on the arm rest. As one last breath escaped his lips, he forced out, “Iolanta . . .” Then he was gone.
I stumbled back. If I hadn’t grabbed the thick curtain, I might have fallen right off the gilded edge of the balcony. I closed my eyes, though it wouldn’t matter because the image before me would forever be in my catalog of memories, whether I wanted it to or not. I decided then and there that I had to go to the police. Puzzles, codes, and secret adventures were one thing, but death and murder was something completely different, and I wouldn’t play this game.
I tried not to look at the hunched-over body as I grabbed my purse and headed toward the opera box exit. Faint voices coming from the staircase were getting closer.
“What about the woman?” a man whispered.
“You get the case,” a raspy male voice ordered. We need the documents! I’ll take care of her.”
I glanced around the box. There was no way out except the staircase they already occupied. The lights began to dim, warning the audience to take their seats. I looked around again. Maybe I could manage to hide in front of the curtain, right next to the balcony edge. Anyone in the audience would be able to see me, but the men with the creepy voices wouldn’t. I quickly seized the briefcase and disappeared behind the curtain.
“Where is it?” one of the men said as they stepped into the box.
“She must have grabbed it and left before we got here. Make sure he’s dead,” the other man said.
“Of course, he’s dead. I never miss. Let’s get out of here! She can’t be far.” I didn’t move a muscle until the footsteps faded from the stairs. The house lights went out, and the first aria of the next act began. My mind recalled the words from a translation I had read.
Love, bring some relief
To my sorrow, to my sighs:
Give me back my loved one,
Or in mercy let me die.
The words haunted me as I stealthily exited the opera box that had once held great royalty.
While the countess on stage was lamenting her husband’s infidelity, I ran down the stairs and searched around the corner for a way to exit the theater without being seen. Two men in dark coats talked energetically to a lobby attendant, and I didn’t have to guess who they were. I only had a moment before they would see me.
Thankfully, several people still dawdled with wine glasses in their hands even though the opera had begun again. I darted in the opposite direction as the men and found a door down a long hallway. It led to a narrow room with a long table and tall chairs. I ran through it and into a rehearsal hall with a wood floor and ballet bars. My shoes echoed on the floor as I ran across.
Suddenly, one of my tall heels snagged the back hem of my dress, and I stumbled across the floor. The sound of ripping satin preceded a loud smack as my body collided with the floor. The briefcase and clutch flew across the room, dispersing all the contents onto the dance floor. I scrambled up, knowing I didn’t have much time. I reached the clutch contents first. My hotel key, a cell phone I didn’t recognize, lipstick, a white business card, and a lighter. Strange. I stuffed them back in the clutch.
The suitcase had broken open, and several sheets of paper were scattered from my position all the way to the wall of mirrors. I tried to quickly pick up the papers, but they had obtained a static charge from the floor, requiring me to pick up each sheet one by one. Words and diagrams filled my mind. I heard the door I had come through open and saw through the mirror the two men entering. I picked up the last few papers and ran to the opposite door.
My body flew through a few more rooms and hallways. I felt like I was going in circles, lost in a maze. The soft tones of the opera traveled through the walls. I was in a room somewhere behind the stage. Several women in costume lounged on fluffy antique couches. A few held scripts in their hands. One stood by an open doorway and looked at me before going back to her script. It was Cherubino, the woman who played the count’s page, a male.
Shoot! I had entered the green room where actors waited before going on stage. I knew Cherubino should be entering the scene soon. I wasn’t about to follow “him” on stage, so I headed for the only other exit from the room. It led to a space filled with costumes, characters, and chaos. No one even looked in my direction as they were all engrossed in their own activities. I maneuvered my way through until I reached the back, but there was no way out. Then I noticed a fire extinguisher mounted to the wall. To the right of it, an emergency exit map had been framed to the wall. My mind took a quick picture, and I found the emergency exit hidden by a wheeled costume rack. In the United States there would have been some kind of fire-code violation. I parted the costumes so I could get to the door handle. I was worried an alarm would go off, but since the door was blocked in the first place, I took my chances.
No alarm sounded, and the door opened just enough for me to squeeze right through it before snapping closed behind me. The echoing sounds of the opera were suddenly replaced with eerie silence.
I gripped tightly to the wrought-iron railing of a fire escape. Who were these men, and what did they have to do with the guy who had sat next to me in the opera box? I didn’t know the answer, but my instincts told me to get as far away from those men as possible.
I leaned over the railing. A ladder attached to the building ran from the balcony where I stood, all the way to the ground about ten feet below. I still had all the papers under my left arm and the clutch in my hand, so I would have to get to the ground with just my right hand. Since my dress was ripped in the back, I managed to move quickly down to the ground. I almost twisted my ankle on the last step. Heels were not made for running, climbing, jumping, or being chased by scary men.
Casey would have cried seeing me toss the elegant shoes into a dumpster next to the theater, but I couldn’t chance the men seeing I had left the theater this way. I moved more easily now, along the Kryukov Canal. An iron-and-concrete railing ran along its edge. The reflection of the moon shone in the dark water flowing slowly through the canal. I passed several buildings beyond the theater and began to think I had lost the men following me. A few cars drove on the opposite side of the canal, but the street was empty on my side.
Slowing to a jog, I shivered at the chilly fall air and rubbed my arms. A noise sounded behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. It was so dark I couldn’t see faces, but two men came in my direction about a quarter mile back. I sped up but knew I couldn’t keep it up for too much longer. Eventually they would gain on me. Adrenalin could only make up a short while for lack of good sleep and exhausted muscles. I took a right into a nearby alley and dropped to my knees. I rested my head at the cornerstone of the building to catch my breath and took stock of my options. There were really only two. I could keep running and hope I found a taxi or something before they got to me or I could face them, give them what they wanted, and hope they would let me go. Nothing was worth giving up my life. I knew they wanted what was in the briefcase. I still had the papers under my arm.
Only seconds had passed. I peered around the corner. The men would be on me in just a few minutes. Think. Alex. Think!
It all came together. The contents of my purse called out to me. I poured them onto the pavement. First, I grabbed the cell phone and dialed my driver’s number—the numbers already engraved in my memory from his card.
He answered on the first ring. “Ms. Laxer?”
“I need your help,” I said breathlessly.
“I’m three minutes away. Keep the phone on you so I can use the GPS to find you.”
I dropped the phone into the front of my dress. Bras were good for more than just their intended use.
I picked up the lighter. I wasn’t sure if this would be a mistake, but papers that blood had been spilt over couldn’t get into the wrong hands. That much I knew. I took the sheets out from under my ar
m and held them in one hand while I turned on the lighter with the other. The yellow flame brightened the dark alleyway. I watched as the flame caught the corners of the papers and the fire swiftly engulfed the rest of the stack, eating it away like a ravenous beast. Before the fire reached my fingers holding the remaining corner of the stack, I dropped it. The flames swallowed the last piece of white before the ashes touched the ground.
I rose from the ground as footsteps sounded just around the corner. Maybe my pursuers hadn’t seen me turn down the alley. The footsteps slowed. The two men would get to me before my driver did, and there was no telling what they would do to me once they realized the papers were gone. I did the only thing I thought would save my life. I darted out from the alley, crossing right in front of the men before swinging my body over the railing and plunging into the freezing water of the canal.
6
Elijah
Faces flashed through my mind—Tanner, Mom, Dad. The colors began to fade from their skin. The rush of ocean waves swelled in my ears, the cool water covering my body and sending goosebumps over my skin. The sea-green waters started to turn a murky gray. Tanner and Mom disappeared from my view. “No!” I shouted. “No! Stay here with me. Don’t go!”
An emptiness hollowed out within me. I tried to call out to them again, but dirty water flooded into my mouth. My body convulsed. Liquid spewed from my mouth as coughs wracked through me. I tried to open my eyes, but all I saw was blackness.
“Just hold on. You are going to be fine.”
I recognized the voice, but confusion still filled my mind. Someone was carrying me. My head hurt, my lungs burned, and I couldn’t stop shivering. I felt my body being laid down and covered with warmth. The last thing I remembered was the smell of new leather.
I opened my eyes. Soft light streamed through the curtains. I was lying on the bed in my hotel room, covered with a thick comforter. My head ached. Images of Russian architecture and the opera scrolled through my mind. I smiled until the rest of the night began to play—a briefcase, a bloody shirt, strangers, running away, ashes, and a dive into freezing water. It was all there, every scary detail etched forever in my mind.
Someone cleared their throat, and I looked to the other side of the bedroom. The nameless driver sat in a velvet-covered armchair. His eyes drooped with exhaustion, and his normally crisp and clean clothes appeared crumpled and dirty.
“How are you feeling?” he asked with obvious concern. As soon as he spoke, I realized who had pulled me from the canal.
“You . . . you saved me?” I didn’t really mean it as a question, but it just came out that way.
“I’m the driver, but I have to have someone to drive. Sometimes that means I have to expand my job duties.” He smiled at me for the first time. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes reminded me of my father. I ached for home.
“But how did you find me? I remember jumping and feeling cold. My phone must have gotten wet, so the GPS would’ve stopped working. I don’t remember anything else. And I don’t ever forget.” I can’t believe I just admitted that.
“I was across the canal when I saw you go down. You must have hit your head. I was able to jump in and get you back to the other side before your ‘admirers’ crossed the bridge.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. This man had saved my life. That act gave me an instant connection with him. I would trust him.
“I am just glad you are okay. You gave me quite a scare with that brave jump.” He cleared his throat. “If you are feeling up to it, you do have a flight in three hours, and you may want to change before then.” He tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his tailored suit.
I looked at my own clothes and realized I was still in the same ripped dress as last night, though it had dried by now. Yeah, I did need to change. A steamy hot shower sounded nice, too.
The driver got up from his seat. I noticed one of the knees in his pants was torn. The night had been rough on him too. He started toward the door of my room.
“Wait,” I called after him. He turned around. I wanted to ask him about the events of the previous night. Who was the poor man at the theater? Why were those men after the briefcase? What was I doing here? The exhaustion in my body matched the exhaustion in his face, so I just said, “You’ve driven me all around town and saved my life, and I still don’t know your name.”
He cleared his throat while he pulled at the bottom of his jacket.
“Elijah. You can call me Elijah.” A little twinkle sparkled in his eye. “Not many people ask my name.”
7
Answers
“So how was your Dad’s this weekend?” Casey asked. We sat on her bed painting each other’s toenails—her suggestion, not mine. I’d only been back from the airport for a few hours. Casey still didn’t know I had skipped classes that day. I had barely walked in the door of our dorm when she almost plowed me over with a story about a new guy she had met and gone out with over the weekend. She spent twenty minutes bragging about the intelligence of her new beau while she added little red nail-polish flowers to my toenails.
“It was an interesting weekend. Just glad to be back,” I said truthfully, hoping she didn’t ask more questions. I could do lies of omission, but I couldn’t flat out lie to one of my best friends. My head still throbbed a little from my plunge into Russian waters. I tried to push away the memory.
“Have you heard from that running guy?” Casey asked.
“No, but I’m okay if I don’t. There’s plenty of things to keep me busy this week, with midterms coming up and that big research paper.” I surprised myself by adding, “I was also thinking of looking for a job on campus or something. I think I want to save up and do some traveling next summer.” I was in an unusually good mood, practically euphoric, despite my weekend. Why am I so happy?
“Can I come?” Casey screwed the lid back on her nail polish. Of course, her parents would foot her travel bill. She had already been to many countries around the world.
“You’d better come. Otherwise, who will help me find the best places to eat and shop, not to mention keep me dressed in style? I don’t know what I would do without your fashion sense.” I wiggled my toes, admiring her beautiful artistry on my nails. Casey, on the other hand, had nail-polish remover on a cotton swab and was trying to fix what I had done to her toes. “Besides, if you travel alone,” I went on, “there is no one to share the adventure with.”
“Great. So where should we go first?” she asked.
“How about we wait until I get a job?”
“Okay, but I am going to start doing some research right now.” She pulled out her electronic tablet and began typing away.
I went back to my bed and stretched out my body. It was getting late, but I knew I should pull out my homework. I had missed a few classes that day so I needed to catch up. I looked at the syllabus in my head for each class I had missed and began reviewing the textbooks.
“Daydreaming about your boy?” Casey said after a while.
“Shut up!” I groaned and tossed a furry pillow at her head. Sometimes I forgot that I probably looked really lazy to someone who didn’t know about my memory. At times I was tempted to tell my roomie, but I hated that she might think of me differently if she knew. It was nice to be a “normal” college student, and Casey was the last person I wanted treating me like I wasn’t. So I pulled out my actual textbooks and set them in front of me on my bed.
“I’m studying. At least someone in this room is worried about grades tonight.” I watched as she flipped screens on her tablet.
“Oooooh, how about Rome? Gondolas sound like fun, and I love Italian accents.” She sighed and fell back on her pillow.
“Case, come on. I don’t want to get too excited about traveling before I have the funds to go. Besides, I thought you had a new prospective boyfriend, anyway.”
“Gotta keep my options open.” She grinned. “My parents can probably help out with costs,” she said with a wink.
“I’m
not letting your parents pay for me to travel. Besides, working for it will make it even more special.”
“You’re weird.” She threw my pillow back, hitting me square in the face.
I tried to glare at her, but it turned into a smirk. “I’ll take weird over spoiled.”
Casey pouted. “Fine, I’ll study too. You seriously are going to make me get straight A’s this semester. Then my parents will start to worry about me.”
I rolled my eyes as she took out her backpack. It was really a vintage carpet bag to which she had creatively sewn a shoulder strap. Her inventiveness baffled me, and I sometimes coveted her fun, simple life. She was smart, but not too smart, and pretty, but didn’t let it get to her head. Everyone liked her and she knew how to have fun. I lucked out getting her as a roommate.
After our study session, we went for some late-night ice cream at an old-fashioned place that was close enough to walk to, but far enough away that I had yet to gain any of those “freshman fifteen” pounds everyone talked about.
We walked back slowly, and I ate my French vanilla with fresh strawberries on top just as gradually. Casey, on the other hand, devoured her “everything on it” chocolate ice cream within a few minutes of leaving the parlor.
She put her hand to her head. “Ugh. Brain freeze!”
“You have to learn to enjoy each bite.” I smiled at her while I licked my plastic spoon. Life was good.
That night I didn’t dream about home as I usually did. Instead, flashes from the weekend filled my sleep. It was like someone was pressing the DVD controller buttons randomly— fast forward, slow motion, rewind, pause. The final moment that had me sweating was in slow motion.
I was sprinting toward the canal. I glanced over my left shoulder to see the men chasing me. One of them carried a gun in his hand and glared at me with an expression of hatred. His dark eyes kept staring at me when I awoke in a sweat. They tormented me as I took my shower and got dressed for the day. They gnawed at my insides and prevented me from eating any breakfast.