Devil's Playground

by Sara Clancy

  “Did they just forget to do this room, or did we lose it?” Vlas asked, naturally keeping his voice to a whisper.

  Aleksandr didn’t answer.

  Vlas latched onto his brother’s arm and yanked him around so they were face to face, “So, how do we do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill them.”

  “We don’t.”

  “They murdered Vera.”

  “So?”

  “So I want revenge. And you should, too.”

  Aleksandr ripped his arm free and jogged towards the door without responding.

  “She was your sister,” Vlas snarled.

  “She used to throw Molotov cocktails at me.”

  “That was just a prank,” Vlas said. “How did you survive these things for two years being so damn sensitive?”

  “They let us go.”

  “After they took mom and dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  Aleksandr had his hand on the exit before he realized his mistake. Vlas would come to the same conclusion he and Evelyn had. They’re happy as long as they don’t go home empty-handed. Aleksandr dropped to the ground just as Vlas struck. The blow went high, the edge of his knife slicing the top of Aleksandr’s head instead of driving into his back. Hot blood trickled through his hair as he rolled to the side. One foot braced against the ground for balance, and with his fist up, Aleksandr looked back at his brother.

  “How did you get a knife past the metal detectors?”

  Caught off guard by the question, Vlas blinked and kept his silence. It gave Aleksandr the time he needed to get back onto his feet.

  “It’s human bone,” Vlas said, flipping the knife back and forth so Aleksandr could admire it. “Vera gave it to me for our birthday this year. You know, you still haven’t given me anything.”

  “You’re trying to kill me.”

  Vlas snorted, “You can’t use that as an excuse. I’ve only just decided to murder you, and our birthday was a month ago. It really hurt our feelings that you didn’t remember.”

  In the back of his head, Aleksandr wondered if they were truly alone. Or if, like before, this hall was filled with people that the Furies kept him from seeing. If the second option were true, there were two key problems. Someone could get in the way. And someone was going to call security.

  “I could go to the gift shop right now.” Aleksandr had hoped that prolonging the conversation would distract his brother from noticing that he was shifting into a better position, readying himself for the fight.

  But Vlas saw. His eyes tracked every move of Aleksandr’s limbs with an almost detached amusement. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt on his features. Vlas believed that this fight was as good as over, and history was on his side. A lifetime of beatings and torment had proved to Aleksandr that he couldn’t stand against Vera and Vlas. But there’s only Vlas now, Aleksandr reminded himself. In that, there was hope. Vlas had only ever killed as part of a pack. A piece of a greater whole. Aleksandr had survived by watching his own back.

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Alek. We both know you’re not going to leave Vegas alive. Let me make sure that your death has some meaning.”

  Vlas didn’t wait to hear a response. He rushed the distance that separated them, knife slashing through the air, each swipe closer than the one before it. Aleksandr reeled back. Twisted and turned. Always feeling the stirred air just above his skin. Vlas was faster than he had given him credit for. His movements bold. He didn’t hesitate. Moved with instinct instead of planning.

  The tip of the knife was as sharp as a scalpel. It barely touched Aleksandr’s face but still cut a near surgical wound from his jaw to his temple. Swallowing the scream of pain pulling at his skin, opening the wound wider. Blood trickled down his neck as he lunged onto Vlas. Barely half an inch separated the tip of the knife from Aleksandr’s chest when he managed to grab hold of his brother’s wrist. Vlas dropped the knife, his free hand already moving to catch it. Aleksandr was faster. He snatched the knife from the air, half of his palm safely on the hilt while the remainder of his hand was sliced open by the blade. Still, he clenched tight and shoved up.

  The blade hit Vlas in the tender skin under his jaw. It sunk in smoothly, barely offering any resistance, only stopping when Aleksandr’s own fist blocked the way. Blood rushed through the opening. A wet gargling noise worked its way through the silence. When Vlas parted his lips, the slightest hint of the bone dagger could be spotted just behind his teeth. But none of this was why he had stopped fighting back. Aleksandr couldn’t understand it until he heard the laughter again. Vera and Vlas, giggling with demonic glee. Vlas jerked. Blood and spit bubbled from his mouth. His eyes grew impossibly large. And then he was flung backwards. Aleksandr watched in stunned silence as his brother was dragged across the floor by the arrow embedded into his back. They were large, metal contraptions. More like a harpoon than an arrow. Aleksandr recognized them instantly. It had been the first game Petya had taught Vera and Vlas, and one that had remained their stable favorite. Impale a victim on a harpoon. Attach the other end to a car and drive. See how long they could last. The memories played in Aleksandr’s mind as he watched Vlas desperately claw at the carpet. It was dumb luck that he managed to latch onto the doorframe. The harpoons continued to pull, the hooked tips tearing flesh and bone as Vlas refused to relinquish his grip.

  Aleksandr trembled back a step when he first caught sight of the approaching figures. The monstrosity of their appearance rooted him into place, keeping him still when he longed to flee. All three had female figures. But their skin was gone, sliced clean from the muscle, and large animal skulls had taken the place of their own heads. A jackal. A vulture. A crocodile. The sun-bleached bones were the only part of the bodies not slick with blood and rot. On all fours, they crawled towards Vlas. Their limbs squished and the metal chains rattled as they closed in. Not one of them was in any hurry. They knew Vlas had no hope of escaping them. They’re savoring the kill.

  The realization made something click in Aleksandr’s head. Evelyn’s theory that they could be sated. Olga’s death. That first night when the Furies had let them flee into the desert. And now, as he stood here, forgotten, a spectator to his brother’s death. Death enthralls them. Distracts them. They enjoy it.

  Aleksandr’s hip and knee burned with renewed vengeance as he spun. If his theory was correct, his time was running out. He wasn’t going to waste the precious seconds just to see Vlas die. He forced himself to run and crashed into the hidden staff hallway. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he pressed speed dial and held it to his ear.

  “They got Vlas. Where are you?”

  “The hospital,” Nadya replied.

  “What?”

  “We’re fine,” she assured. “Eve’s unconscious. The police are here. I don’t know what Radmiar’s told them, but he’s trying to slip into her room unnoticed. We don’t know what to do.”

  If he could hail a cab, it was only an eleven-minute ride to the hospital. By foot, it was more than an hour. More than enough time for the Furies to finish with Vlas and be on the prowl once more.

  “Get to the airport,” Aleksandr said as he sprinted down the narrow hallway, heading for the staff elevator.

  “We’re leaving her?”

  “I’ll get Evelyn. If we don’t meet you out front in forty-five minutes, get the hell out of town. Don’t wait for us. You remember how to slip the safety checks?”

  “Alek–”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes, I remember. I’ll get tickets for all of us, don’t worry.”

  “If we’re not there, go.”

  “But–”

  “Just do it, Nadya!” he snapped. Realizing that this could be the last time he ever spoke with her, he quickly added, “I love you both,” and hung up.

  Chapter 13

  Evelyn could feel her heartbeat in her skull. Each pulse like the blow of a hammer. Only when she tried to blink did she realize that her eyes were
closed. Her breath catching in her throat, she snapped her eyes open and jerked up. A tight band cut into her wrist, yanking her back down as she tried to climb to her feet. The room was a blur of sterile white and shifting curtains. She heaved each breath, but air never seemed to find its way into her lungs. The room lurched and spun. She could almost feel her brain sloshing about.

  “Evelyn?” She whirled towards the voice and almost blacked out. “Evelyn, it’s okay. You’re safe in the Las Vegas hospital.”

  “What?”

  Squinting, she managed to bring the uniformed police officer into focus. He was still talking, but the sound came a second too late, making him appear like a poorly dubbed movie. It was distracting, and when he paused, looking at her for a reply, she discovered that she hadn’t understood a single word he had said. “What?” she repeated meekly.

  “You’re Evelyn, aren’t you?” This time, the officer kept his voice solid and his words slow.

  “Yes,” she swallowed, vainly trying to wet her dry throat. “Evelyn Figueroa. How did you know?”

  “Your father’s been very worried about you.”

  She tried to get up again. Once more, a sharp bite to her wrist kept her in place on the bed. “I forgot to call him back. Is he okay?”

  “He called the station and asked for us to keep an eye out for you,” the officer said.

  “What did you tell him?” She patted her chest and found that the phone was no longer in her bra. “Where’s my phone? I need to call him.”

  “We already have. He knows that you’re safe. It’s okay.” Still, he presented her with a plastic bag containing her belongings. She sagged with relief that she hadn’t been carrying anything suspicious.

  A gaping pit opened up in her chest. “You didn’t tell him I was in the hospital, did you? He’ll come here if you did. He can’t come to Vegas!”

  “We assured him that you were alright. That we had a few questions for you and that you’d call him back in an hour or so. We didn’t want him to worry until we knew what we had.”

  The words soothed Evelyn’s mind enough for her to notice more detail. Most notably, what kept her pinned in place.

  “Why am I handcuffed to the bed?”

  After a moment of hesitation, the officer proceeded in a much softer voice. “Do you remember the fight you were in?”

  “That was self-defense,” she said hurriedly.

  “I’m sure it was. But we need to get all the facts.”

  “Is strapping me to the bed necessary?”

  “We didn’t want you hurting yourself or anyone else.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Witnesses said you were acting strange before the confrontation. Running from something that wasn’t there. Do you remember that?”

  Evelyn swallowed again and kept her silence. What happened to the twins? Should I ask? Why hasn’t he mentioned them? The memory of Radmiar swinging the metal bar for her head came back to her. She winced at the phantom pain. Did they get away?

  “Your father told us a little bit about you,” the officer said when it became clear she wasn’t about to speak. “About what happened to you a few years back?”

  Just spit it out, she hissed at him in her mind. “Olga and Petya Sokolovsky.”

  “Yeah. That kind of thing ... well, time doesn’t always heal those sorts of wounds. Did you perhaps take something to help?”

  She blinked. “You think I’m on drugs?”

  “I think there’s a lot you might want to forget.”

  “Did I test positive for anything?”

  “Doctors are still running their tests,” he said. “But it’s best to tell us before we find out on our own.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You attacked someone. Witnesses said you swung first.”

  “He was threatening me,” Evelyn cut in.

  “We’ll look into that. But there’s also the matter of some property damage.”

  “The handbags? I might have bled on a few. How much could that really cost?”

  “The bill is in the thousands. They’re still assessing.”

  “This is unbelievable,” she muttered. Running for my life from Furies and serial killers and I get caught up because of Prada.

  “Evelyn, I want you to know that you have a sympathetic ear here. We want to help you. But you have to be honest with us.”

  “I’m just really confused.” She tried to make herself sound as innocent and scared as possible.

  “I know. Everything will be okay.”

  “My wrist hurts,” she said. “Can you please loosen these?”

  The officer mulled it over. “You seem lucid. Touch the index finger of your right hand to your nose.”

  “I’m not drunk,” she assured as she performed the task.

  “You’re in the emergency room. Do you know what that means?” The officer sat on the edge of her bed and held her gaze. “It means that there are a lot of sick people who are hurting, who don’t need any more fear on top of their problems.”

  “Okay,” Evelyn said slowly.

  “You cause me or anyone else a moment of trouble, I’m putting them back on. Deal?”

  “Yes, of course. Sir, I’m disorientated, not dangerous.”

  “I don’t know. People were telling me you know how to throw a punch.”

  “Self-defense,” she repeated. Because there really wasn’t much else she could say.

  “I’m going to get your doctor. Can I trust you to sit here?”

  “Yes, officer.”

  The moment he stepped beyond the curtain, Evelyn was tugging at the tubes and monitors that were attached to her skin. She ripped open the bag with her teeth, shoved her wallet into her pocket, and had just wrapped her fingers around her phone when it began to buzz. Cursing and fumbling with the buttons, she kept her eyes on the curtain as she answered in a hushed whisper.

  “Alek?”

  “I’m picking you up at the front entrance. Get there now.”

  “How did you know where I was?” She scrambled off of the bed, grateful that they hadn’t felt a need to remove her shoes.

  The hospital was filled with noise. Beeps and machine whirls and a thousand conversations. None of which the paper-thin curtains stifled at all.

  “From Nadya,” he replied. “Why are you whispering?”

  “Police,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in a cab.”

  Evelyn shook her head as she crept towards the gap in the curtain. For some reason, that just stuck her as incredibly odd.

  “Vlas?” she asked.

  “Gone. Look, I have a theory that we didn’t get away the first time just because they let us go.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, carefully peering out the gap in the curtain.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone guarding her makeshift room.

  “I think there’s a window of opportunity. A time after they get what they want when they don’t care about anything else.”

  Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “You think we got away from the Furies because they were too busy doing a happy dance over killing someone?”

  “Or they were playing.” She could hear the strain in his voice as he carefully picked his words. It made her wonder if the cab driver was paying more attention to the conversation than Aleksandr was comfortable with. “Petya and Olga were the same way.”

  “Okay. How long?”

  “A few minutes. Half an hour.”

  She paused in opening the curtain. “There’s a big difference between those two.”

  “I don’t have a stopwatch with me,” Aleksandr hissed. “I’m almost there. Get out now.”

  “Radmiar?”

  “We’ve got it covered,” Aleksandr cut in. “But we need to get the timing right. If you’re not out front when I pull up, I’m going to have to leave without you. So move.”

  It had only been a moment of hesitation, but it cost her dearly. The curtain was ripped from h
er loose grip, the plastic hangers releasing a gasping sound as they scraped across metal, and Radmiar slipped inside. Surprised to find her so close, he quickly placed one finger against his mouth, silently shushing her.

  “Easy now,” he whispered. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You mean like scream for help because a serial killer is stalking me? Are you sure that’s stupid? Because it sounds like a pretty smart idea to me.”

  “Oh, Eve,” he smiled. “You’re delusional. There isn’t a single shred of evidence that I’m anything other than a law-abiding citizen. It’s your word against mine.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But I’d love to see you talk your way out of it,” she said.

  “You’re cranky when you have a concussion.”

  “You’re egotistical when you’ve got a broken nose,” she shot back, finding a vast amount of joy in the midnight dark bruise that was steadily growing across his face.

  A small glint of metal drew her eyes. His fingers toyed with something, his flesh keeping her from spotting him properly. A few rotations and she realized it was a syringe.

  “What are you planning?” she asked, reluctant to retreat but desperately wanting to get out of striking range.

  He let the syringe slip a little further into his grip. Just enough for her to see that the needle was empty.

  “I think I’ve seen this on TV,” she said. “Air bubble to the vein, right?”

  “Simple enough death. Resembles a heart attack.”

  “Yeah, nothing suspicious about a nineteen-year-old athlete in good health dying of a heart attack.”

  His eyes narrowed and his lip curled with disgust. Evelyn didn’t look away, challenging him with her own murderous glare. To close that last bit of distance between them. To take his chance. Radmiar finally shifted his torso and Evelyn tensed. Still in a crouch, she tried to calculate how long it would take her to get to an exit. Scream. Draw attention. The officer can’t be that far. Radmiar positioned his fingers around the syringe. A smile broke out across his face, cruel and laced with ice. Still, he didn’t strike. Intent on prolonging the moment. Stoking her fear into a blazing fire. Giving her all the time her panicked brain needed to understand exactly what was coming next. And everything that it meant.