by Ana Calin
“I thought it was nothing until now.”
“Elaborate,” I said, frowning to focus.
Leona crossed her arms, searching for the way to put it. She spoke fast, under her breath, her eyes darting left and right to ensure privacy.
“A few weeks ago, George and I went out to the Bourbon Pub on what was supposed to be a romantic evening. Imagine my surprise to see Novac and Svetlana there, talking closely over drinks – she had sparkling wine, he had water. I was worried they might be out on a date themselves, so I dragged George into it.”
“I bet he loved that.”
Leona smirked. “You know him well. George felt awkward and pretended to need the men’s room, while I drew a chair and sat at their table without asking for permission. I did ask, however, if they were enjoying their night—my very presence ensuring they weren’t.” Leona nodded her head at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Anyway, Svetlana didn’t actually look all that bothered. With a foxy grin she told me she needed Novac’s help with research on an article written ten years before by the once famous journalist Marius Iordache. What made this article interesting to her was that the R.I.S. had a classified file on its subject, a file titled The Executioner. She had the article in her purse, she said, that was her number one source.”
“Why would she volunteer all of this information to you?”
“I don’t know, but I asked why she needed Novac’s help of all people. I mean, she’s in Journalism, he’s in Med School, but she argued that he knew people with information, since he delivered booze to the clubs that the underground thugs got wasted in. She implied he even had connections to corrupt officials. Anyway, it was obvious to me that she only used all this as a pretext to get close to him. Novac looked uncomfortable, but in control.” Leona got an intense look in her eye and leaned forward. “Now it occurs to me, Svetlana might’ve been past the pretexts and into the blackmailing stage, since she only stopped talking, and her hand froze mid-way inside her purse to take out the article when Novac interrupted her, bluntly, coldly, and promised he’d meet her again the next evening. Her mouth sealed in a second, and she grinned like a satisfied cat.”
Blood pumped hard in my temples. “What would Svetlana blackmail him for?”
Leona shrugged and replied plainly, “Sex.”
“Oh, come on.” I laughed. “Why would someone like her need to blackmail a guy?”
“Because she’s fuckin’ obsessed with him, Alice, that’s why. And he does not want her.”
I bit hard into my lip. “And then? What happened?”
“Then Novac stood up, and left. No kisses, no good-byes, not even a handshake. When I asked Svetlana if they were a couple, she grinned and said not yet. That exact second George came back, and Svetlana stood, slung her purse on her shoulder, gave us a self-satisfied good-bye and pranced away on her high heels. But by then it was all clear to me.” Here Leona began stressing her words. “Clear that Novac wasn’t interested in her. He was cold as ice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d back off if you learned how aggressively Svetlana was chasing him. And you shouldn’t back off, not because of her. But a classified file with the R.I.S, now that’s another matter altogether. I don’t want you involved with him if he turns out to be a villain.”
I stared at her, not sure how to take this. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. My dad suspects they have a file on him, too, and he’s not a criminal or something.”
“Do you hear yourself, Alice? We’re talking about the freaking R.I.S.! Your dad is famous, powerful, and he was once an agent abroad, he’s someone worth keeping a file on. What’s Novac’s excuse? He’s a college student.”
She shuffled from one leg to the other, eager to go, while all I could do was stare at her. The others were still busy eating and gossiping, but they would soon burn off their material and eavesdrop for ours.
“Here’s the deal,” she said. “We need to know what that article says exactly. There’s no way we’ll hear another word on it ever again unless we use this chance. Since Novac tries so hard to bury this thing, I’m sure it’s worth the dig.” Her eyes darted around. “It’ll be a while until he walks through that door, but Hector will be back any minute now. Just call ‘I need a quilt’ at the base of the stairs if he wants to come up.”
Before I could reply, she rushed up to the hallway and up the attic steps. I was about to ignore her request and follow her, when George appeared.
“Where’s Leona?”
Telling him the truth would put me on our “treason” list. “She’s gone out for some air,” I muttered.
Soon Svetlana emerged from the bedroom into the hallway, too. She looked tired and sick, her face still white from shock. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Mind your own damn business,” she sneered, and waved me away.
I took several steps back, embarrassed. Svetlana’s friends moved on with her, staring back at me with the same contempt they’d seen on her face.
She forced herself to laugh, mingling jovially with the others. By the time Leona came back, Svetlana was back to being the center of attention again.
“What did Marius say?” I whispered.
“Not much. He’s sober now, and won’t talk easily. You have to buy me more time.”
“Forget it. You’re done exposing yourself to a potential rapist.”
“He’s wound in rope, Alice, from neck to toe. He’s lying on muddy hay and needs to be baby-fed. He’s harmless.”
The door creaked open and Hector walked in, carrying firewood on a shoulder, and for a moment Leona’s eyes glinted. Yes, he was much rougher than George, looking strong and grounded.
“May I remind you that you have a boyfriend,” I whispered in her ear, eyes still on Hector.
She just stared at him, motionless, as if she hadn’t heard me. I waved a hand in front of her eyes.
“Hey, Moon, this is Houston, come in.” This woke her from a moment’s reverie, and switched her Sherlock ambitions back on.
“Just keep him off my trail. If he goes out again, watch him. If he comes back in, keep him talking,” she said, and turned on her heels.
In the afternoon the others went back to drinking and playing cards. Leona mingled with them, fixed on gathering info, while I got close to the hippie lady I’d shared a bunk with last night.
“So, do you know that Marius guy well?” I asked once we got comfortable enough with each other, sipping our drinks with blankets around us on the floor.
“Not really. My boyfriend and I only met him yesterday on the train.”
“Still, a long train ride is a good place for conversations,” I pushed with a smile. “Keeps boredom at bay. And you said something about a career last night, so he must’ve told you stuff.”
The woman shrugged. “He gave us a short version of his life. Said he was an investigative journalist, and that he worked for some big names.” She frowned like an idea just hit her. She held up her index finger, and scrambled up. “Wait here.”
Soon she returned from the bunkroom with a worn book, and reclaimed her spot by me on the floor.
“He’d been reading this on the train, and kept nagging my boyfriend with it. Danny is a science freak, too, you know.” She smiled, clearly proud of her smart cookie of a man – the younger braids guy –, who now lay wasted on the floor, his mouth open and his fingers loose on the neck of a beer bottle.
I took the book and leafed through it. It was a battered-looking piece by a Dr. Nathaniel Sinclair on genetics, even though the vocab didn’t quite fit. It seemed archaic. I managed the first five pages, but it sounded nothing like what I’d learned from my father.
Evening grayed the windows, and the moment came. Hector walked out the door, and Leona fired a glance at me. I decided to let her have her way – I didn’t stand a chance of persuading her otherwise anyway – and darted after him, right into the sharp wind outside that naile
d me on the porch, while Hector hurried to a barn blurred by snowfall.
Night descended fast over the mountains. Our shelter stood so lonely in the wilderness, so cut off from the world, that only the thought of war felt more threatening than this isolation.
There was no sign of Damian, and fear punched into my chest. Anything could’ve happened to him. No, something must’ve happened to him. He was gone at least eight hours.
As I made out Hector’s frame walking back toward me, carrying more wood on his shoulder, I held out the door.
“What are you doing here, babe?” he said hoarsely.
Babe? As in sexy? “I . . . I was thinking about Damian and the others. Weren’t they supposed to be back by now?”
He dropped the pile of wood in the hallway and put his hands on his waist, moving it in circles as if to relieve pain. He grimaced as he spoke, looking down at the pile.
“They shouldn’t have left in the first place. Damian knew the blizzard had only taken a short break.”
My heart jumped. “Should we go out and search for them or something?”
Hector stretched and looked up, to the ceiling.
“I admire your courage, but you wouldn’t last an hour out there.”
“I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with you,” I pushed.
Hector snorted and started toward the main room.
“If it’s Damian you’re worried about, don’t be,” he threw over his shoulder.
Shit, he knows I’m into him. Everyone does. I felt exposed. I wanted to hide, but instead I grabbed Hector’s elbow.
“I’m worried about all of them. Why do you think I’m worried about Damian?”
“Well, maybe because he saved your life?”
Yes, of course. Anyone would inquire about their rescuer and feel obliged to return the favor. My secret was still safe, and my lips glued together to avoid further stupid remarks.
Hector’s tone softened as he continued. “For your peace of mind, Damian can take care of himself, and he’s good with winters. As for the other two, they couldn’t hope for better company, they’re safe.”
Good with winters – so my Russian spy theory might just hold, my inner self mocked. But Hector didn’t lose another word on the subject of Damian. I didn’t dig any deeper either, afraid that I’d expose my infatuation. Instead, we moved on to discussing survival strategies based on Discovery Channel documentaries.
In order to keep informed of his actions and intentions, I helped him feed the stoves and got a number of splinters in my bookworm hands in the process. Then, right after we’d rekindled the fire in the bunkroom, his moving toward the stairs hit my alarm button. He intended to check on Marius, the biker.
“I’m cold! I need a quilt!” I yelped. Hector stared at me as if I were a mad cow.
“And you expect me to bring you one?”
I blinked and chuckled like a schoolgirl, adrenaline rushing to my fingertips, but his attention left me in just a second. Sudden turbulence and screaming in the main room made his head snap in its direction.
We rushed into the dim chamber, and pushed our way through a mass of gathered people.
“She’s acting all epileptic, man,” George shrieked, his eyes wide and clueless.
Hector shoved him out of the way and fell to his knees by Svetlana’s side. The sight of her was a hard blow – eyes rolling, body convulsing, her hair clinging to her sweaty forehead.
“Shit, man, the woman’s possessed!” a guy called, jerking away from Svetlana as Hector snatched something from his shaking hand.
I couldn’t identify the object until he fit it in Svetlana’s mouth – a wooden spoon, maybe to ensure she didn’t swallow her tongue. My skin creased and my mind locked on this isn’t happening like a scratched disk, while the sight of her limbs slowly gumming in twisted positions burned into my memory. It never really left me.
Things Dad had taught me about breakdowns stormed to the front of my mind as Svetlana began moving her head from side to side, giving out feeble sighs.
“Let’s take her to bed, I know how to help her,” I told Hector.
Without further questions, he scooped her up and followed me to the bunkroom. The others trailed like a flock of curious chickens, but Leona’s confident voice stopped them at the door. “This ain’t the Big Brother house, the woman needs to rest.”
Hector laid Svetlana on the bed and shuffled the blanket over her.
“See if anyone has brought vitamins. Or any kind of medication, we’ll see if there’s anything we can use.” My tone was more assertive and matter-of-fact than I’d ever thought myself capable of, which made Hector stare at me puzzled.
“What exactly are we looking for?”
“I’ll decide what we can use when I see what you get, but basically calcium and magnesium,” I offered a brief explanation, taking a seat by Svetlana’s side. “Better yet, talk to Leona. She’ll know what to pick.”
“How will that bimbo know what to pick?” Svetlana said in a faint voice after Hector left the room.
“She’s a smart-ass bimbo.”
Few people knew, but Leona had been labeled a genius four years ago, when she’d applied for university. People of her heritage required previous examining and testing before they went to the “higher” circles such as universities, which were reserved for those of nobler – “fairer” – descent. She should’ve been admitted to anything from law to med school, but her origin was nothing short of a scarlet letter even after she’d passed all tests. She only made it in Psychology, where Mom managed to pull some strings.
“All I need is to get out of here,” Svetlana whispered as I lit the leftovers of two candles.
She looked aside, the small flames casting eerie light on her face and sending a strange sensation up my throat. Black and deep circles around her eyes made them look sunken in her skull, but what really drew my attention were her cheeks. They were sucked in, as if the person who’d laughed at me just yesterday had fallen heavily ill. I stroked the sweaty tendrils off her face with an automatic impulse. They felt like mine when I had nightmares.
“We all do. Just hang in there, the others will find help. We’ll sure be out of here in the morning.”
“In the morning . . .” A tired smile curled her mouth. “None of us will make it till morning.” She trembled, her lips white and her eyes foggy. She looked delirious.
“Try to get some rest. Fatigue and paranoia go hand in hand,” I insisted and stood up, intent to open the window and get snow from the sill so I could lower her fever. Otherwise I feared she’d be beyond repair before help came. But, before I could turn, she clasped my hand.
“Don’t take me for a lunatic, Alice. We won’t survive this, not unless we break them, all of us.”
“Break what?” I smiled to keep her calm. It failed.
She took her hands to her face, her polished fingernails scratching down the skin of her throat, blood trickling in their wake. “The confinements of our flesh . . .”
She’s mad! I jolted to her, pushing her hands down in panic. “Svetlana, for Christ’s sake!”
Her grin stretched to her ears like the sneer of a skull. The blizzard now whistled beyond the walls as if aligning to her growing intensity, making the window chatter from its hinges. Chills coursed down my spine.
Her voice caught guttural, low stress. “What miracle do you expect by invoking him, that usurper? This isn’t the work of god or devil.”
“What are you, a philosophy major?” I tried for a joke to ease the ill temper that seemed to build up in her. But, before I could blink, her hands wrapped around my neck, squeezing so tightly that I panicked, sure I’d swallow my throat bones. My tongue pushed out of my mouth, I choked on every attempt to pull in air, and this isn’t happening turned on fast forward.
Chapter Four
After a severe fit of coughing that abused my still sensitive ribcage, anger slowly replaced shock. Sprawled on the floor, I raised my eyes to Svetlana.
L
eona – probably my savior this time – restrained the Barbie, whose sweat-damp hair whipped around her head as she struggled.
“You’re lab mice!” She cried over and over again. “Lab mice” was especially frequent and accompanied by spittle as Leona and George tied her to the bed with wound sheets and some rope Hector brought in.
I scrambled up and dragged myself to the main room, stumbling over drunkard sleepers – people too wasted to realize anything of what happened around them – and boiling in my own juice. Tripping over bottles on the floor I fell by the terracotta stove, feeling miserable and breaking out in tears. My brain refused to think until a cluster of people walked in, led by Hector. With weak hands, I wiped the tears and blew my nose in a dirty glove I’d found around.
“I’ve seen this before,” one of them said, his voice too loud. “A cousin of mine, last year. They took her to a hospice, branded her nuts.”
“Did your cousin mention lab mice?” George laughed, and slapped the guy’s back.
“I wonder whether you’d still talk shit, if it were your mamma in her place,” the first one countered.
“My mamma doesn’t strip for mobsters who fuck her into madness,” George reacted.
“Hey, I hear neither did Svetlana,” another one chimed in, although he also sounded amused. “She used to go to the club as a client, and her dances were meant for the delivery boy, namely Novac.”
“I guess it caught the wrong guy’s attention.” That was George again. “By the way, Hector, is it true that Barbie and Novac are having an affair behind the mobster’s back?”
Now that’s direct. I perked up my ears.
“You ask dangerous questions, George,” Hector replied darkly.
Great. Just what I needed to glaze over my wrecked self-esteem – Damian and Svetlana as protagonists in a forbidden love story. My heart ached. I’d go for someone bald and fat like Svetlana’s sugar daddy next time, but broke.
Hector’s thick fingers slid over the chords in a lilt melody, as if to block further inquiries. But his tactics had its downside. The group changed the subject but kept on opening one too many bottles – impressive how much they’d saved from the train and carried through the snowstorm like veritable addicts.