by Ana Calin
Soon the talking turned loud and chaotic. I could only make out isolated words but no sentences, while the sharp smell of alcohol gave me a headache. Just as the party went wild again, Leona dropped by my side with a groan. Judging by the tucked up sleeves, she must’ve gone hard on Svetlana. I didn’t pity the girl, honestly.
“No amount of calcium or magnesium could’ve stilled her,” she said, “and we don’t have any anyway, so I put a bag over her head. Let her inhale her own CO2 until she turned into a vegetable. I know, it sounds horrible, but it was for a noble cause. Now she’s asleep.”
Genius.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” I lied. “Thanks for getting her off me. She’s freaking crazy. Maybe she does belong in a hospice.” I whispered that last sentence.
“Or she hates your guts, is capable of killing you, and she belongs in jail,” Leona said.
“You were wrong about Damian not being interested in her,” I interrupted, unable to contain myself. “Apparently, Damian and her do have something going.”
“Alice, we have more pressing matters to discuss now,” Leona insisted, growing exasperated.
“What’s pressing is that you weren’t straight forward.”
“Now hold on.” She put up her palm. “I honestly don’t believe he’s interested in her. What I really think is that he’s faking nice to keep her from spreading what she knows. Or . . . at the most . . . he’s sleeping with her to ensure she keeps her mouth shut.”
Those words shot a stinging image into my head, an image of Damian’s muscled, honey-skinned body undulating between Svetlana’s long legs.
“Either way, you shouldn’t have let me get my hopes high.”
“I honestly thought you had a chance there.”
“Oh, stop it, Leona. Do you think me so dumb as to really compare myself to Svetlana, or you, or others of your league? Are you dumb enough to do that?”
Leona pulled me to my feet, keeping a tight grip on my shoulders.
“It’s that bastard Tony you have to thank for this arsenal of complexes,” she grunted through her teeth. “I can’t wait to get back home so I can seek him out and make him suffer.”
“I’m just being honest with myself.”
“You’re a very, very pretty girl, Alice.”
“That’s right, girl. Not woman. That’s probably why Damian rejected me when I tried to turn him on in the bunkroom. I must’ve made him feel like a pedophile.” My face caught fire as I confessed.
“Or maybe he respects you too much to do you in a filthy bunk. That’s what my gut tells me.”
“Whatever. He doesn’t want me. I might as well strive to plant a flag on the moon.”
“Alice, your shattered self-esteem really has to wait,” she pressed.
A huge frame passing the threshold drew my attention. Damian stopped in place, his tresses and eyebrows topped with snow, a heavy sheepskin coat across his broad shoulders. Another guy limped and hung off him like a cloth on a huge tree, seemingly ravaged not only by the blizzard but also shock.
Before anybody could utter a word, the guy hanging on Damian crouched to the floor and began throwing up. Hector dropped the guitar and jumped to his feet, hollow wood and chords resounding against the floor.
“What happened?”
“Dragged, man!” the guy rattled between spasms. “Those shits, they friggin’ dragged me!” He convulsed again, the foul smell of his vomit reaching my nose. It didn’t seem to bother Hector though, who grabbed his shoulders, straightening him up.
“Who? Talk!”
Damian intervened, his arm mowing Hector’s hands off the Wretch. “Just gather all sharp objects you can find in this place.”
“Why?” Hector urged.
“There’s no time for this,” Damian said with a serious frown. He looked tense, terribly tense.
“Those friggin’ animals,” the poor wretched soul who’d been throwing up babbled. Then another spasm and another violent throw-up – the only sound in the room.
I forgot to breathe.
For quite a few moments I was convinced this was some sick joke, not feeling anything, not reacting, not moving, but seeing every line on the guy’s bent profile, every fold on his leather-patched coat, as if my senses had sharpened in a split second.
The Wretch didn’t reply to the low, puzzled “Who?” and “What?” coming from a few people with some presence of spirit, and it wasn’t until Hector asked Damian a direct, “What the hell is he talking about?” that an intelligible, however reluctant answer came.
“We found a village in the valley, not far from here. There were people, but they didn’t answer our knocks. They watched us from behind curtains.”
“Fucking animals!” the Wretch shrieked, while Damian settled him on a rickety chair in the corner, assisted by Leona.
“The police station, the church, everything looked deserted,” Damian continued. “We found a house with the front door ajar and we went in. For food. There were old provisions in the basement, and old food is better than no food, so we took what looked safe. We started back.”
“We were almost here when something lashed around my leg, man!” the Wretch said, neurotic. “They would’ve dragged me off the cliff!”
“We had to leave behind everything we’d gathered so we could move faster,” Damian said. “We brought back very little.”
“We’re friggin’ dead.” The Wretch breathed slower now, his lids falling heavy. It was painful to look at him. I couldn’t keep this isn’t happening from starting another solo in my head as it slowly dawned on me – someone had tried to kill them.
It took a while until everybody processed what was said, and reality kicked in. Some came to their senses with headshakes, some with rapid blinking, and a few with hysteria. As for me, I felt rooted in the ground. An avalanche of questions started, ranging from, “What’s this all about?” to painfully insensitive, “What’s that got to do with the booze?” since Damian had everybody gather all bottles in a pile.
“Broken bottles can be used as weapons,” Damian replied. “Like screwdrivers, cutlery and pens.”
“Why this mobilization?” That was George.
“They followed us back here, man,” the Wretch grumbled. “They wheezed and growled in the dark, always hidden but always close. Those shits, they’re lurking out there.”
“Maybe they were wolves!” George retorted, his pitch high with panic.
“Those were no wolves,” Damian said with a grave certainty that made my skin crease.
I slowly walked backwards, out of everybody’s way, until I bumped into the windowsill. I pressed against it, keeping my arms across my chest.
Was this all happening because of Damian’s affair with a mobster’s woman? Maybe the mobster sent his thugs to settle accounts with Damian, while the rest of us were just collateral damage – and Svetlana had known this. She’d expected it. “None of us will make it ‘till morning.”
But then again, would a mobster go to such lengths for an unfaithful lover? To derail a train full of innocent people in snowy mountains, forcing them to take refuge at a remote cabin, emptying a whole village and populating it with his thugs only to get back at a rival? Why, when he could’ve staged anything in Constanța? This theory hung by a thread. But the other one . . . Whatever villains the R.I.S. hunted might just have that kind of power.
My eyes rested on the Wretch, who still sat in the corner chair and in my field of vision. Leona bent over his chest and rubbed it with a wet cloth to clean the vomit, but he didn’t seem aware of her. He had the sickening pallor and lost stare of a dead man. He seemed to be staring at me.
I followed it and turned to look behind me. Two glowing circles like the eyes of an animal flashed before me. I screamed and backed up, waving my hands in a desperate attempt to cling to something, anything, and soon a wall of bodies replaced the gleam that had sent me frantic.
My brain banged against my skull for moments until I
realized someone shook me. The physical sensation brought me back to awareness. George’s long, thin face appeared an intermittent vision as I blinked fast, trying to gather myself. His words sounded muffled and the first thing that came through clearly was, “Are you going mad too, Alice?”
“The window! I saw someone!” I squealed.
The Wretch moaned in his corner. My head snapped to him. His eyes were wide with fear, fixed on the pane, while his body struggled with invisible enemies, the chair screaming under him.
A commotion started, and before long people called, “There’s nothing here.” I pushed George aside but still hung on him for support as I craned my neck to see the panes. My jelly-soft legs barely kept me standing.
Indeed, darkness spread over the window, only the snow in its corners glistening like the veil of a ghost.
“I saw someone,” I whispered. Someone, I was sure of it. And indeed no wolf. The eyes had been at the same level as mine, which meant whoever had stood out there was a tall person. Outside the ground leveled much lower than inside the lodge, I’d realized that when I’d been out on the porch. No animal standing on its back legs could have as much as reached the sill, unless that animal was a bear.
“Are you sure?” George asked.
I already had second thoughts – not as to the glowing eyes, but to whether or not I should insist on it. The situation was dire, but panic wouldn’t make it any better.
“No. Never mind. I bumped my head against the window, the rest could’ve been just in my imagination.”
“For Christ’s sake, Alice, you almost gave me a heart attack,” George scorned.
“We’re scared enough already,” another one called, his face hidden in the group.
I shut out all reproaches and welcomed Leona’s comforting presence by my side.
“This whole thing is getting to us all,” she said.
“What did you get out of Marius?” I asked as soon as I could master my voice. Now, I too had a great urge to find out what the hell had put us in this situation.
Leona searched my eyes, and made sure I could stand on my feet. “Follow me.”
She started toward the door, snaking her way to the kitchen. I hurried to catch up with her down the narrow hallway, bumping into people who talked about what was to be done.
We found Damian and Hector forging the same kind of plans with a few others – including George, to my surprise, who listened with a serious look on his face, nodding. He seemed proud to have become a part of their closest gang.
Damian stood with his back at the counter, knives and other metallic, rusty objects lined on it, the sheepskin coat folded on a chair by his side.
“. . . not before Hector and I have scouted the area,” he concluded as we came in.
I wanted to punch myself for how my heart fluttered as I set eyes on him. I’d already waved a finger at my inner self and decided that Damian Novac was a no-no. I reminded myself that, if we survived this mess, he’d only have me toss and turn at night, obsessing about the smallest gestures he made and the most meaningless of glances – like I had until now. Not to mention that we most probably owed him this shitty situation. The man was serious trouble, no matter from what angle I looked at him.
I kept a low profile by the door, but Leona went straight to the men.
“Have you seen this before?” she interrupted Damian bluntly, her tone accusatory.
“Seen what?” Damian’s deep, forbidding tone shattered Leona’s determination, but she picked herself up quickly enough.
“Damian, you’re keeping things from us and– ”
“I thought you wanted to ask, not impute something,” he interrupted.
Leona brought a fist to her mouth and cleared her voice, probably buying time to rephrase once more. As she spoke, she sounded defiant. “Why did you have us gather all objects that can be used as weapons?”
“So we know exactly where to reach in case of need,” he replied as if he were prepared for the question.
“Why not simply arm everybody?”
“Because I don’t want you panicking at the slightest sound and hurting each other.”
“I’m sorry, Damian, but that sounds more like an excuse than a reason.”
“Do you want panicky drunks waving broken bottles around your pretty face before somebody actually bursts in?”
“You expect people to barge in on us?”
Damian’s eyes flashed as he spoke the next words.
“People,” he stressed, as if saying a name, “chased the three of us from the village back here. They tried to kill one of us. A lash whipped out from the darkness and wound around his ankle. They dragged him, his body smashed into trees and rocks until he came to a precipice, where he almost saw his end. Yes, I think People will eventually barge in on us, and they’ll bring some hellish killing techniques with them.” His voice was steady, but anger lurked deep in it.
“You make it sound like People are pretty good at what they do. And yet here you are, Damian, all three of you. Why do you think you made it back?”
“What are you implying, Leona?”
“I’m implying People want us all in one place,” she said, raising her chin and taking a step closer to him. “I’m implying they were after us from the beginning. They were after the whole group, whom they want to take down in one blow. I’m implying they can take us down in one blow. I don’t think they need guerilla tactics, but just wanted to scare you, so you wouldn’t leave this place again. You made it back because People let you. They chased you back to your cage, and now they’re waiting for the right moment to attack, which is why they haven’t stormed in after you. You didn’t bother to block the door, so I think you know this damned well. You know what to expect.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “And your question is?”
“Am I right?”
“It doesn’t sound like you still have a doubt.”
“To make the question clearer still: Have you met People before, Damian?”
His features hardened. “I have.”
My jaw dropped. Leona straightened up, even more accusatory. “Then why don’t you tell us what to expect now?”
Damian’s face sealed off all expression, turning into a beautiful, sculpted mask.
“Because it won’t do you any good.” His eyes swept over the rest of us who stood cluttered in the doorstep. I thought his gaze rested on me a second longer than on any other face.
He grabbed the sheepskin and started to the door. Toward me. I melted on my feet, cursing myself silently. How could I be so taken with him, even now?
Hector followed, and George scurried after them like a pet. Those of us who clustered in their way drew aside. My heart smote me as Damian passed by, leaving a trace of cool air and fir scent behind. The others trailed after them like tide, screaming out questions at Damian, and leaving Leona and me alone, gawking at each other.
“What was that?” I mumbled, walking slowly to her.
She shook her head and dropped on her buttocks by the fridge, drained of strength. She’d put all of it in her confrontation with Damian, it seemed.
“We’re in serious trouble, real trouble, Alice.”
I sat by her side, my brain buzzing with increasing alarm, now that Damian wasn’t close enough to keep my reason numb. Still, I refrained from pressuring Leona and resorted to watching her intently. She looked stricken and took a while of eye darting and head scratching before she spoke, measuring her words.
“Getting Marius Iordache talking wasn’t easy, you know? He was suspicious even about the food, paranoid even. It was hard work persuading him it wasn’t poisoned. Now part of me wishes I hadn’t succeeded.” She shuddered.
“Is his story that ugly?”
“You don’t begin to imagine.”
“You know who People are, Leona?”
She took a deep breath, trying to act calm, but she knotted her fingers nervously. “Ten years ago, Marius Iordache covered a hot story that should’v
e made headlines – a story that involved Damian Novac. While the ink was still fresh on paper though, the R.I.S. classified the file, then shot down Marius’s story, stating it was all sensationalism. Marius lost all credibility.
“He archived the article at Gardianul and started his own investigation, determined to prove the story real and restore his name, but always ran into a dead end. The audience labeled him paranoid and obsessed with conspirators when he came out on TV, alleging the Romanian Intelligence Service had switched off all sources and covered the truth. He became the fool of the year, which is why he eventually dropped the matter, but never forgot it.
“Now here’s the first interesting turn: A month ago, Svetlana contacted him. They met in Bucharest, where she told him she knew all about his story, and that she’d even seen the file the R.I.S. had on its subject. That she could help him prove it. Marius, still obsessed with the matter, agreed to give her the archived original article from 1995 in exchange for a look at the file, which she was supposed to enable. She didn’t keep her word and went off radar. He got a hold of her in Constanța, told her he’d be a thorn in her rib until she fulfilled her promise.
“The attempted rape was the first subject we began to bond on up in the attic. Marius alleges that Svetlana, cornered by his presence in Constanța, led him on. She even invited him on this trip, facilitating access to Damian Novac himself. Marius was thrilled, and agreed to keep his identity secret ‘til the ‘right moment’ – if Novac discovered who he was, he might’ve not come along or disappeared. Once here, Svetlana subtly came on to Marius, and later staged the attempted rape to make him look the villain, so nobody would trust anything he might say about her. She punched him in his weak spot – credibility.”
Makes sense. Last night she’d come with him to the room and lay by his side without objection. I hadn’t even noticed them.
“Get to the point, what was the story?” I urged her.