Reviving Izabel (In the Company of Killers)

by J. A. Redmerski

  Victor laughs lightly.

  “Fredrik is full of morbid surprises,” he says and then opens the car door. He gets out, carrying his briefcase in one hand and walks around to my side. “I need you to stay in the room until I get back. Though it will likely be sometime tomorrow before I do.”

  I get out of the car and he closes the door behind me.

  “You’re not going to let me lure David?”

  “No. He’s already seen you, knows that you left with Costa. By now you’re probably the one person in this city who he wants to find.”

  Before we make it into the lobby, I stop Victor in front of the tall glass doors.

  “What happened to Seraphina?”

  Victor looks behind me briefly in thought for a moment.

  “I don’t know,” he answers. “He refused to talk about it, which led me to believe that ultimately, he killed her.”

  ~~~

  Victor didn’t come back to the hotel until almost noon the following day. I did exactly as he had instructed and I never left the room, not even to get a drink from the machine we passed in the hallway on the way up. I ordered room service and requested it be left on the floor outside the door. I watched television and showered and peered out the window of the fifteenth floor at the bustling city of New Orleans below, all the while wondering what Victor was doing. If he and Fredrik found David and if David was suffering the same fate as his brother.

  When Victor returned, he was as clean as he was when he left; not a drop of blood on his suit anywhere. Of course, I knew that didn’t mean anything.

  He and Fredrik got the information they needed out of David and it happened to match the information that Andre Costa had given. Apparently, David was easier to break. Victor told me that Fredrik didn’t even have to resort to the needles. A part of me was glad for that. I just didn’t want to think about it.

  Fredrik stayed behind with David, and Victor drove me back to Albuquerque.

  “I thought we’d already established this, Victor. Why are you leaving me here?”

  “Because you’re not ready for me to take you with me on missions.” He’s carefully packing a few items of clothes into a brown suitcase on the foot of the bed. “Certainly not all the way to Venezuela. It becomes much more difficult to stay in hiding when crossing international borders.”

  I sit down on the side of the bed and then lay across it, letting my legs hang off the sides at the knees. I gaze up at the tall, vaulted ceiling.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Until the job is done,” he answers and I hear the latches on the suitcase clicking closed.

  “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

  “Whatever you want. Just stay out of trouble.” His crooked smile gives him instant forgiveness.

  “Well, can’t I stay with Dina in Oklahoma? Or she could come here and stay with me. I’ll go stir crazy here by myself.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s too soon to risk visiting Mrs. Gregory either way. Once Fredrik is free, he will stay with you here in the house.”

  I raise my back from the bed and hold myself up with my elbows propped against the mattress.

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Fredrik. You’re going to leave me with Fredrik?” I know that he trusts him, but he doesn’t trust him fully.

  I don’t understand his reasoning.

  Victor grins faintly. “Are you afraid he’s going to stick needles under your fingernails?”

  I blink a few times. Was it that obvious?

  “Like I said, you’ll be fine.” Victor leaves the foot of the bed and comes around to my side where he crouches down in front of me. I raise up the rest of the way and look down at him.

  His expression has changed, the grin has gone leaving only a soft look of wonder and concern in his face. The shift in mood makes me eager and uncomfortable.

  “Sarai,” he says, placing his hands upon my bare knees, “remember everything that I’ve told you about trust. Just remember everything that I’ve ever told you.”

  “Why are you saying this?” I cock my head to one side and lines of confusion and worry deepen around my eyes. “I don’t like the way that sounds.”

  He stands up. “Always trust your instincts.” He picks up his suitcase from beside me and heads toward the bedroom door.

  “Wait,” I call out, following him.

  He stops and turns to look at me.

  “Why are my instincts telling me right now that you’re keeping something important from me?”

  He sets the suitcase back down and steps up to me, enclosing me within the circle of his arms. His mouth brushes mine, the warmth of his tongue gently parting my lips. He kisses me hungrily, winding his hands within my hair, and as much as I want to bask in the passion of the moment, I can’t help but wonder if this is a kiss goodbye.

  He pulls away from me reluctantly and touches the bottom of my chin with the side of his index finger.

  “Because they’re right,” he finally answers and I blink back the stun of his confession. “Let’s just hope they never let you down.”

  Without another word, Victor walks out of the house and heads to a commercial airport to catch a plane to Venezuela.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sarai

  Two days have come and gone uneventfully and I’m growing more restless alone inside this big southwestern-style house, the tall yellow-painted walls and terra cotta flooring my only company. I can’t stand television much, though after being imprisoned in Mexico for most of my young life with only Spanish soap operas for entertainment, one might think American television would be a welcomed luxury. But I grew quickly out of it very early on after I started my temporary life with Dina in Arizona eight months ago. Rarely do I ever listen to the radio even. But I did start playing the piano more. I’ll always love the piano. I kind of wish that Victor had one here for me to play.

  I pace the big house in my bare feet, double-checking all of the doors and windows, making sure they’re locked. But it’s the last time I check as I refuse to become paranoid, not even for Victor’s sake and his sometimes peculiar, but always incessant concern for me. But I can’t deny that I like that about him.

  I think a lot about what he said to me before he left. I want more than anything right now to know the meaning behind his cryptic words. I feel like he’s testing me again. That’s what my instincts are screaming at me. But what worries me more than anything is that deep down I know this test has a lot to do with Fredrik. I’m beginning to wonder just how far Victor will go to train me.

  And I’m beginning to wonder just how much he really trusts me…

  Hours into the late afternoon, just when I’ve decided to give in to suffering through a round of television, I hear a vehicle pulling into the driveway in front of the house, little pieces of loose rock popping underneath the tires. I race to the window to make out who it is.

  My heart leaps inside my chest when I watch the lever-style knob on the front door turn halfway as it is being unlocked from the outside. All I can think about is why Victor gave Fredrik a key.

  “There you are, doll,” Fredrik says as he steps into the room, his dark, tousled hair always styled as though he literally just left the salon.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, pretending not to know and failing to conceal the nervousness in my voice.

  I glance quickly toward the sofa where I’ve hidden a 9mm under a cushion and then near the hallway where a cherry-wood console table hides a .380 in its small drawer. They are among several guns that are placed throughout the house. Every one of them loaded. In this life there’s no such thing as a safety lock.

  “Victor didn’t tell you?” he asks, breaking apart the buttons at the wrists of his dress shirt and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. “I’m to stay with you until he gets back. You keep it incredibly warm in here.” He slides his index finger behind his collar pulling the fabric away from his throat with a look of dis
comfort.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I get cold easily.”

  Fredrik smiles and walks past me and into the living room. I follow him, keeping my eyes on his every move. I feel like I’m not supposed to trust him, but the truth is that I do trust him. I’m baffled by my own insecurities.

  “You could at least open a few windows,” he suggests.

  Fredrik walks around the tawny leather sofa and flips the latches on the tall window behind it. A light breeze filters inside, blowing the long, see-through tan curtain covering it. He does the same to the window next to it.

  He’s dressed in a pair of casual dark-brown slacks and a white button-up shirt where I can see the outline of his chest and arm muscles through the thin fabric. A pair of brown leather loafers dress his bare feet. A gun grip peeks from the back of his pants, held firmly in place by his belt.

  Maybe that’s what this test is about, if in fact it is a test; more and more I’m unsure of everything, it seems. But it seems out of character for Victor to go out of his way to see if I’ll sleep with another man. Though if that’s the case, what man better than Fredrik, a gorgeous and darkly intriguing specimen of the male form, to tempt me with? But I’m not a sick and demented girl. I find Fredrik’s casual ability to torture and murder not-so-innocent people, rather disgusting and barbaric…OK, so maybe what he did to Andre Costa didn’t disgust me as much as it should have. Maybe I should still be traumatized by what I saw considering it’s only been a few days. Maybe I should be so uneasy around him right this very minute that I feel like I have rocks in my stomach and my hands should be shaking. But I’m perfectly at ease and…OK, perhaps I am a sick and demented girl. Victor must see it. Why else would be choose to tempt me with Fredrik of all people?

  “I know what Victor’s doing.” I warn, crossing my arms and manipulating the inside of my cheek with my teeth. I sit down on the sofa, drawing my bare legs up and onto the cushion that hides the gun. I bend them at the knees and get comfortable, making sure that my short cotton shorts aren’t riding up too far and revealing more of my legs than necessary. “Don’t even waste your time,” I add.

  Fredrik tilts his head curiously to one side and walks the rest of the way around the sofa and toward the nearby matching leather chair.

  “Waste my time doing what?” He really does appear to have no idea what I’m talking about.

  He sits down, propping his right ankle on the top of his left knee, his long arms stretched across the chair arms where the tips of his fingers touch the little golden buttons embedded deeply in the leather.

  “I don’t care how attractive you are,” I say, “there’s no way in hell you can seduce me.”

  Fredrik laughs lightly, shaking his smiling head. A deep breath expels from his lungs as his shoulders relax.

  “I didn’t come here for that, doll.” His smile accentuated by his bright blue eyes framed by almost-black tousled hair. “Victor simply asked that I keep an eye on you.”

  “But I don’t need an eye on me,” I say with a soft, yet stubborn tone. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  Fredrik never loses his smile, though now it shows more in his eyes than on his mouth.

  “Of that I have no doubt,” he says, “but just the same, Victor asked that I be here. And I apologize, but his requests come before yours.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but I’m hardly offended. I know he’s right, but I’m not giving in that easily.

  “What is it with you and Victor, anyway?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on.” He shakes his head, grinning across at me. “You’ve bewitched him. And very easily, I must say. You’re more dangerous than I could ever be. To Victor, anyway.” He flashes a grin.

  I feel my eyebrows crinkling in my forehead.

  Fredrik laughs softly and gently slaps the palms of his hands down once on the tops of his legs, smoothing them across the fabric of his pants afterwards. He moves them back to the chair arms.

  “If you’re implying that I’m trying to seduce him with some kind of false intent, then you’re wrong.” I am offended this time and it shows in my voice.

  “I wasn’t implying that at all.” He takes another casual breath and relaxes his back against the seat, slouching a little. “I’ve known Victor for many years, Sarai, and I can tell you—though I probably shouldn’t—that I’ve never seen him the way he has been since he’s met you.”

  My stomach flutters for a moment. I push it away. I’m not really the stomach-fluttering type. Or, at least I try not to be, as if it might somehow make me weak. But I can’t deny, either, that when it comes to Victor I find myself ‘pushing it away’, often. I swallow and raise my chin.

  And then I change the subject.

  “Forgive me if this seems blunt—”

  “I like blunt,” he cuts in and flashes me another smile. “Blunt cuts out all of the bullshit.”

  I nod.

  “Well, do you get off on torturing people?” I ask, as though it’s exactly what I think. “Or murdering people, for that matter.”

  Fredrik reaches over to adjust his thick silver watch around his right wrist. He places his hands back down on the chair arms.

  “Coming from someone who can’t wait to slit a man’s throat,” he says, grin still in-tact, “that’s a strong accusation. Borderline hypocritical.”

  “I thought you liked blunt,” I point out, referring to his dodging of my question.

  He catches on fast.

  “If you mean ‘get off on it’ in a sexual manner, then no, I do not. But yes, in a retributive manner, I very much get off on it.”

  “Retributive?”

  “Absolutely,” he says. “People like Andre Costa and his brother, David, deserve what they get. And I’m happy to oblige.” He laughs gently and adds, “Of course, I’m no saint. And when the time comes that the roles are reversed and I’m the one in the chair, then I can live with that. But no one will ever break me…not again.”

  I can only wonder what that last part meant. And I get the sense that it had been a comment not meant for me.

  Flashes of the needles and cruel images of them being pushed underneath Andre’s fingernails sear through my mind momentarily. I shudder and my skin crawls. The back of my neck dampens and my hands feel clammy.

  Squeamishly, I look over the coffee table at him.

  “But the…things you do,” I try to shake the image out of my mind. Another shiver rolls up my back. “Why needles?”

  A faint smile appears at the corners of his mouth, which I recognize right away as an attempt to soften my image of him and not to gloat inwardly about my discomfort of it.

  “The method is very effective, as you saw.”

  “Yeah, but…,” I search for the words, “how can you stomach it?”

  Fredrik’s smile fades, replaced with a blank expression as he stares out beyond me.

  “I really don’t know,” he answers, and I get the feeling that the answer troubles him somehow.

  Just as quickly, his smile returns and he’s folding his hands over his stomach, and interlacing his long, manicured fingers.

  “How long do you think Victor will be gone?” I ask.

  Fredrik shakes his head. “Until the job is done.”

  I knew he’d give me the same answer that Victor gave, but it was worth the shot. What I really want to know is more about Seraphina, but I’m too afraid ask. I feel like Victor told me what he did about Fredrik and Seraphina, in confidence. And I don’t want to let Fredrik know about our conversation.

  But it’s killing me.

  I unfold my legs from the sofa and let my feet drop on the floor. I stand up and cross my arms, looking across at Fredrik who watches me with mild curiosity. I pace once down the length of the coffee table and then stop.

  “How did you…well, what made you the way you are?” I ask, carefully tiptoeing around the things I already know and hoping he’ll tell me himself.

 
He looks at me from the side, cocking his head thoughtfully.

  “What you really want to know,” he says, “is how Seraphina made me the way I am. Or, did Victor not get around to telling you about her yet?” He grins, knowing.

  For a moment, I can’t look him in the eye. I run my hands up and down the softness of my arms a couple of times and then sit down on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of him. I bury my hands in the loose fabric of the bottom of my gray t-shirt.

  “He told you?” I ask.

  Fredrik nods. “He asked me if I minded that he tell you. He respects me enough to ask first. It’s a very delicate conversation.”

  “She must’ve hurt you pretty bad,” I say carefully.

  “Despite what Victor thinks,” he says, raising his back from the chair and draping his loosely-folded hands in-between his knees, “Seraphina was only part of the reason I turned out like I did. A small part. She was, as my shrink appointed by the Order said, the trigger. The spark in a room full of gas. But I was ruined long before I met her.” He laughs lightly, but I find no humor in it. Something tells me that he really doesn’t, either.

  Suddenly, Fredrik gets up and walks toward the opened window behind the couch. I stand up, too, allowing my eyes to follow him to keep him in my sights, but I remain standing by the table. I can’t be sure because his back is to me now and I can no longer see his face, but I sense the mood in the room has darkened significantly. He stands with his arms down at his sides, the light breeze from the window brushing through the top of his dark hair.

  But he divulges nothing and I’m left only wondering what terrible images are torturing him, what unbearable memory is haunting him in this moment. And all I can do is stand here and let it run its course.

  Fredrik

  Twenty-five years ago…

  The man with the wiry red hair, whose name I was unworthy of knowing, slapped me across the face so hard that a flash of white covered my vision. I fell against the cobblestone slab, my bare legs so bony and malnourished collapsing beneath me. Blood sprang up in my mouth the moment the tip of his boot connected underneath my chin.