Little Dove

by Jaden Wilkes

  “Oh god,” Iryna whispered, “I wish I could help you.”

  The sincerity in her voice pushed Columbia’s fear of humiliation aside. She started to cry and said, “I wish you could too.”

  She hobbled to the bucket, each step an excruciating execution in control. She imagined somebody had replaced the bones in her foot with broken glass; such was the feeling every time she had to put any weight on it.

  She finally made it to the bucket and managed to get down on her knees to squat above it.

  When she was done, she realized she had nothing to wipe herself; she was still naked from the waist down. She felt a wave of humiliation wash over her as she crawled back to the bed, aware of her own pungent scent. She was disgusting, less than an animal and worried that Dimi wouldn’t want her if he found her like this.

  She stumbled back to the cot and Iryna said, “I learned a while back that it’s important to keep talking, to talk through all of this. Please talk to me.”

  “I can’t,” Columbia replied, “I hurt so much.”

  “How can I help you? We need to keep you awake and focused on fighting this.”

  “Tell me about Dimi,” she said to Iryna, “when you knew him.” She pulled herself onto the narrow mattress and dragged the blanket over herself for warmth and to hide her nakedness. She closed her eyes and listened to the girl talk about her love.

  “He was fierce,” Iryna said, “but gentle. If that makes sense. People didn’t think I knew much about my father’s business, but I wasn’t stupid. Even at that age, I knew he was up to no good, I knew he was a powerful man, and I knew Uncle Dimi dealt in death.”

  “He’s still very fierce,” Columbia said and smiled, “but not around me. He’s very different with me. When I first met him I thought here is the man who is going to twist my neck and kill me. Now I think he’s twisted me around his little finger and I would do anything for him. And he for me.”

  “Is he still with his concierge?” Iryna asked? “I always fancied him, but he had a wife and son.”

  “Nico had a son?” Columbia asked. She knew he had a wife and child, but for some reason always imagined him with a dark haired little girl.

  “He did, and his wife was lovely. I think they were murdered when I was young, around eight or nine. The details were always fuzzy, but he came to be with Uncle Dimi permanently after that.

  “Nico is still with us,” Columbia said, “he’s loyal and loving and really a wonderful person to have around. He helps run the household and I think we’d be in a lot of trouble if he ever left. I wouldn’t know the first thing about ordering Dimi’s favourite foods or making sure the jet was on the runway on time.” She laughed; she hadn’t fully understood how much a part of their lives Nico was. It seemed unfair really; he deserved to have a love and life of his own.

  “That’s good to hear, he was a great man,” Iryna said, “but Uncle Dimi, he was something else. He was a huge man, terrifying for most. Men would part in front of him, afraid to cross his path…and then he’d walk right over and play picnic with me and my stuffed animals.”

  Columbia smiled; she loved the thought of him with their child, her beast of a man playing dress up with his little girl. If she was carrying a girl…if it was a boy, would he look like his father? She started to drift off into a daydream about their child, forgetting she was having a conversation with Iryna. She felt lately like her hold on reality was slipping, being here in captivity.

  “Columbia?” Iryna asked, “Are you okay? Talk to me please.”

  She snapped back to reality and whispered, “I’m here, sorry. I’m just so tired. I need to sleep again.”

  “Please keep fighting,” Iryna said, “promise me you will.”

  “I will,” Columbia said and let her eyes close and mind drift. “I promise.”

  *****

  When Columbia woke, she called to Iryna but got no answer. She felt a surge of panic, wondering where the other girl had gone. She needed somebody to talk to; she needed somebody here with her to keep her attached to reality.

  Without Iryna, she felt like she might lose her connection to the present, and lose her connection to Dimitri.

  Some time later she heard scuffling in the hall but couldn’t get up in time to listen as they went by. She heard Iryna’s door slam shut and loud voices in the hall went back past her cell. She edged to the corner of her cot where the crack between the cells was widest and said, “Iryna, are you there? Are you okay?”

  She heard crying from the other side, sobs of pain and confusion, mirroring the noises she herself made. Iryna’s had a feral element to them, as though something deeper had been broken. Columbia had been lucky and avoided rape or torture with the horrible device the doctor had almost shoved inside of her.

  She didn’t think Iryna had been so lucky.

  “Stay with me,” she said, “promise me you’ll stay with me. Don’t give up the fight, Dimi and Nico will come here soon, you know that. We will be saved. I promise.”

  Iryna was crying so hard Columbia didn’t know if the other girl had heard her. She didn’t know what to do, so she started to sing. Anything she could remember, from lullabies to Eminem, country music to an old opera she’d been forced to learn for her choir class.

  Her voice trembled and she was exhausted by the time Iryna calmed down enough to speak.

  “Thank you,” she told Columbia in a small, damaged voice. “I promise I’ll fight. We’ll fight together.”

  “That’s all I could ask for,” Columbia replied. “We’ll fight together.”

  She fell asleep like that, shivering and talking to Iryna, returning the favour, helping the girl make it through the worst of her pain.

  In some small way, she felt like she was doing it for Dimi, but in a larger way, she was doing it for herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IOANA

  The days melted together and she no longer knew which way was up, which direction was North, or even her own name at times. She was listless, barely able to get off the narrow bed most of the time except to piss in the corner bucket or take the scraps of food from the guard.

  Iryna was somewhere on the other side of the wall. She could hear her talking sometimes, a muffled sound, but nothing too clear. She didn’t know if her depression was from being kept like an animal, or being kept away from Iryna.

  She hadn’t understood how much the girl meant to her until she had been taken away.

  Life’s lessons were falling heavy on Ioana lately. Her regret at leaving Boian, her anger at getting caught in Berlin, and her disgust that she’d never let Iryna know how much she really did care for her.

  She sighed and got out of bed, paced the room to loosen her limbs, and did some simple stretches to keep her bones from cracking.

  She heard the tiny window in the door slide open; the creak of metal on metal indicating somebody was paying her a visit.

  She hoped it was the American; he was the most gentle of the men who visited them down there.

  The doctor was the most terrifying. He seemed too fascinated by her growing belly and she felt vaguely threatened every time he inspected her internally, palpated her stomach or asked her detailed questions about the fetus.

  He was up to something, she was sure of it.

  At this point she didn’t think she could fight him off though, she might have to give in if he came for her. She was so fucking tired.

  “Hey sweetie,” the American said through the little window. She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded like a term of endearment. She was happy she’d learned English at the brothel, to entertain the international clientele.

  “Hi,” she replied and stood still until he opened the door. The light hit her and made her wince, she was so used to the dark now.

  “Now, now, don’t be like that,” the American said. “I won’t hurt you. At least not as much as the others.”

  He took her hand and opened Iryna’s door along the way. Both girls followed, but exc
hanged their excitement at seeing one another through their sidelong glances and stolen touches.

  “Now today we’re going to mix things up a little,” the American said, “you’re fiancé is coming back very soon, and he wants to make sure you’re broken in by the time he gets here.”

  Iryna pulled back, but the American wouldn’t let her go. He opened a room at the end of the hall, not the one with the medical equipment, but one across the hall. It was a filthy, dank room with a single double bed in the centre. Two cameras were set up, seemingly focused on the centre. There were shackles attached to the headboard, and terrible looking instruments lined up on a side table against the wall.

  “I thought you were the nice one,” Ioana said, her stomach felt heavy and she didn’t know how much more she could take of this.

  “Oh sweetie,” the American said. “You’ve got me pegged all wrong.”

  “You fucking bastard,” Iryna spat and started to cry. The American had been a friend of her dad’s and had known Iryna for a while. Ioana remembered him from the house in Berlin.

  “You can just call me Mike,” the American smiled, “now let’s get these clothes off and get this training session started.”

  He motioned to the door and two guards entered. They were not the gentle ones. Ioana let herself detach from her body and went to a place where things were safe, her baby was alive, and Boian was holding her tight.

  It was the only way for her to make it through the next few hours. The next few days. The next few…she didn’t know how much longer she had, but she suspected she didn’t have much left in her.

  She closed her eyes and let them have her body, but her heart stayed locked away, for her child, and for Boian.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DIMITRI

  “Fuck me,” the voice rasped in his ear. He tried to roll his head to the side to find the source, but his eyes wouldn’t open and his body wouldn’t respond. “Hey, Mister,” the voice continued. Romanian. The voice was Romanian and belonged to a girl.

  Dimitri groaned and tried to suppress the roiling in his stomach.

  It didn’t work and he managed to turn his head just as the contents spewed out, right into the gutter. Very appropriate.

  Gutter. What the fuck was he doing in the gutter, where was Columbia and why did he feel like he’d been run over by a truck?

  He coughed and the girl said, “Shit, Mister, you gonna…you know…ugh again?”

  “What do you mean ugh?” he asked and struggled to sit up.

  “You know, ugh,” she replied and he realized she was making the noise for throwing up.

  “Oh, puke,” he said, “and no, I’m not.” He sat on the curb, his long legs splayed in front of him and his mid section on fire.

  “Ah, puke, ugh, same thing,” the girl said. “You come with me. To Boian.”

  That’s where he knew her from, the strange looking sprite with the tangled bush of hair. Her face was small and pointy, her hair thick and bright red, and her skin dotted with a constellation of freckles. She wasn’t beautiful…or even pretty…but she possessed a bright, quick mind that made her intriguing. Her age wasn’t easy to pin down, somewhere between eighteen and thirty he guessed, but couldn’t be certain.

  “How far?” he managed to choke out. The pain in his abdomen was overwhelming him. He pulled his shirt up, and in the midst of his burn scars he saw a gaping, meaty hole. He smiled to himself, thinking of Columbia’s reaction to his new addition.

  Columbia, shit, he had to get to her.

  “Not far, I promise. I send text. He meet us near, with doctor,” she said and smiled, holding up an iPhone.

  Figures, even street kids in Bucharest have the latest technology. He wondered if it was stolen, then decided it didn’t matter. This girl deserved it more than some spoilt asshole anyways.

  He tried to get up, and fell back down, the bullet hole making him choke in agony. He lifted his shirt again and prodded the area. It was an exit wound, so there was no bullet left inside, but the explosive journey through his flesh had left a lot of damage in its wake. He reached around and found the entrance.

  “How does this look?” he asked the girl and motioned to his back.

  “Like shit,” she said and gave him a wide grin.

  “I mean is it clean? Is it jagged? You know, is it torn apart?”

  “I take pic,” she said and held up her phone. She snapped a photo and held it in front of his face. The entry wound was clean and already closing. This was a good sign, it meant the trajectory through his body would most likely be clean too, it hadn’t done that much damage until it burst out of him.

  “Thank you,” he said and gritted his teeth. He stood and allowed his body to adjust to the pain, to the sensation of standing after being out for so long and to the oozing blood coming from the wound.

  She came to his side and wrapped her arm around his waist, careful to not touch the bullet hole. She barely came to under his armpit, but she was strong and reliable. He leaned on her and they made their way through the busy, brightly lit streets.

  “How long was I there?” he wondered out loud. She held up her phone and he realized he’d been there for over two hours. “Why did nobody help me?” he asked.

  “You look drunk,” she said, “Nobody helps drunks.”

  It made sense. He’d had too much to drink and it probably showed. Besides, Bucharest was a densely populated city, the more people living in a space; the less likely they were to offer assistance. It was a worldwide phenomenon.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Lina,” she said and they continued.

  Twenty horrific minutes later, they came to an entrance, a simple metal door that was marked with Boian’s gang sign. These doors were located all around the city, and always lead down, into Boian’s kingdom.

  He wished Sanda could have lived to know him, to see how he had carved power and success out of his ruined life. He was more like his mother than he would ever admit.

  Lina knocked, a series of staccato sounds set in a specific pattern. Their gang's secret knock.

  The door creaked outwards and a huge man leaned out, looked around, and motioned for them to come inside.

  Dimitri felt dwarfed by the giant; he must have been a foot taller than himself, had long black braids and elaborate tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin, except for his face. He had a thick, braided black beard and piercing black eyes.

  “You Dimitru?” the man asked. Dimitri nodded yes, not bothering to correct him. He had used the Romanian form of his name, close enough.

  Besides, he wouldn’t be up for any sort of confrontation with the giant when he was in peak health…right now the guy could flick him aside like a flea if he wanted to.

  “Good. Come,” he said and Lina helped Dimitri follow the giant down a long flight of stairs into the depths of the city.

  At the bottom, they hung a right and found a large, brightly lit conference room. Dimitri was surprised; he’d thought the entire underground would be cave-like, carved from the earth.

  Boian was there, his eyes strained with fatigue. Next to him was a grubby fellow, small and narrow featured with darting eyes.

  “What the fuck did you think you were you doing?” Boian demanded as soon as he saw Dimitri, “you fucking killed one of the biggest drug king pins in Bucharest.”

  “Is that who he was?” Dimitri replied and tried to look contrite. “I thought he was connected to our girls somehow.”

  “He most definitely was,” Boian said, “anytime you smell drugs, you probably can smell sex right after. I would have liked to have had a chance to interrogate him though.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Dimitri replied.

  “I doubt it, with your knife sawing his neck open,” Boian said and smiled. “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to cause more damage,” he continued and indicated Dimitri’s blood soaked shirt. “He’s been a pain in our asses for years now. He’s killed m
ore of our kids than anyone else in the city. He had a thing for very young boys, and for cutting them up and stuffing them full of cocaine to ship over the borders in coffins. So thank you, but I would have liked him to know he was dying for all those kids he murdered.”

  “I don’t think it would have mattered,” Dimitri said, “if it makes you feel better, he shit himself when I tore out his throat.”

  Boian laughed. “Yes, that does make me feel better. But what the fuck happened? Did you get shot? How many times?”

  “Yes, and once. At very close range. It was a small caliber or I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

  “Karl must have gotten you,” Boian said. “He had a thing for little guns. If it had been his other man, Nelu, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “Lina said you had a doctor?” Dimitri asked. He wasn’t sure how long he could stand, and wanted to get patched up before heading back to the hotel.

  “Yes,” Boian said, “Meet Doctor Albu. He’ll stitch you up and have you on your way in no time.”

  Dr. Albu grinned, exposing his darkened teeth. They were stained with something, khat perhaps. It was a plant that was chewed to induce euphoria; Dimitri had tried it once on assignment in Egypt. It had been a little too nice, so he’d never done it again.

  He had no choice, so he quelled his distrust of the filthy, khat addicted “doctor” and lifted his shirt.

  Dr. Albu said something in Romanian, Boian translated for him. “He says you are lucky, the back is clean and the front will only need a few stitches. Sit on the table over there and he will get right to it.”

  Dimitri eyed Dr. Albu, trying to suppress his skepticism. He sat on the table and took his shirt off, allowing the good doctor to do a full examination.

  He was relieved when Albu brought out a medical kit, and slipped on latex gloves. They even looked new. Almost.

  He applied some kind of cream to the wound in Dimitri’s back, and immediately the pain ceased and the area felt cool. He sighed and smiled at Albu.