by Ana Calin
“What is this?” Damian hissed.
“How long, Executioner? How long until we start drawing blood this time?”
Before he could speak again, Damian grabbed one of the biker’s arms, and Hector another. I instinctively looked at Hector, hoping something in his face, his reaction, would give meaning to all this.
The bearded singer’s features shimmered in the light of the oil lamp he carried. He looked robust, his small eyes shadowed by bushy eyebrows, and he had the nose of an eagle. His skin had the color of ripe olives, which made me think of a gypsy, the rich beard adding to the grim air. But his face betrayed nothing besides sternness, there wasn't anything I could read or interpret.
The biker tried to jerk from their grasp, but he didn’t stand a chance. I heard muffled bumps and cusses as they took him up the creaky stairs to the attic.
As soon as they were out of hearing range, voices surged in the room. People bundled around Svetlana, while the woman who’d slept by my side just stared at me, propped on an elbow. She had puffy eyes, and her expression fit her overall hippie appearance.
“Are you all right?” she inquired.
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who almost got raped.”
“No. But the Executioner guy seems to have special interest in you. I’d be worried, I guess.” A faint grin took shape on her face. “Or maybe I’d just be horny, you know, from the looks of him.”
Don’t go there. “Do you know anything about this Executioner business?”
She shrugged. “Rapist or not, I tend to believe that Marius bastard, given his career. If he called pretty boy Executioner, he must’ve had a reason.”
Marius. The biker’s name. “His career?”
“Reason my ass,” a young guy with braids cut in, dropping down onto the bed next to the woman and offering her a beer can. “Marius is completely drunk, he talks gibberish.” The can hissed as he popped the tab. “Here, this’ll get you functioning better than coffee.”
It’s already coffee time? I turned to the window. Dawn slowly drew a bloody horizon across the mountainous contour, and I was beat. I cuddled behind the woman – by the wall this time, so that she could keep conversing with her braids guy.
The sleep I got was tormented by daylight, snoring and bad smells. I finally got up about noon, with a headache and a sensation of weakness all through my body. I barely carried myself to the kitchen, mind numb and lids swollen.
The voices around me sounded painfully cheerful. They stabbed my brain, tempting me to skirt around the overpopulated room, but it contained the only sink where I could wash my face and teeth. Toothbrushes and as good as all items for personal hygiene had been abandoned on the train – unlike the booze – so I rubbed my teeth with my finger, bent over the rusty, enamel-peeled sink. The freezing water smacked me full awake.
“Svetlana kicked the bastard in the balls,” a boyish voice said. My eyes followed it to discover a small guy with frizzy locks leaning on the counter by the fridge.
“How would you know, you weren’t even there,” a round young man with face piercings intervened. He turned to the mug-holding, open-mouthed girl the locks guy had been talking to. “It was Damian Novac who punched the guy senseless. He would’ve barged in to save Svetlana sooner, but he and Hector had been in the attic, looking for lamps and other useful stuff that might help us survive several days of isolation or the road to the nearest village or town.”
I didn’t know if that last part was any truer than the kick in the balls, but it was plausible.
I eventually found Leona putting together something to eat on a clay plate – a rarity.
“Wow, I didn’t know people still used these things.” I looked over her shoulder and reached for a bite. She slapped my hand away.
“This ain’t for you, sweetheart. Make your own.” She was stiff and frowning – so either preoccupied or nervous.
“Breakfast or clay plate?”
She glanced around, making sure no one listened.
“I’m taking this to the attic,” she whispered, and I instantly felt like a guilty accomplice.
“You’re most certainly not! If anyone feeds that animal, it should be someone who can tame him.”
“You mean Novac or Hector? Neither are here, and this is my chance.”
What do you mean they’re not here? Where are they and what do you need a chance at?”
“Because they won’t allow anyone up to the attic. I need to talk to him, and I don’t know how much time I have until they’ll be back.”
“So, where are they?”
“Novac went with two others to look for the nearest village or town, if they find one within a mile or two. They’ll bring back help and food. Hector stayed back as the watchdog, but right now he’s cutting wood in the barn.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Leona shook her head. “No you’re not. Stay here, and make sure no one comes up.”
“Why are you doing this? What can you possibly want with the guy?”
She looked aside through the window. It was the first time Leona formulated sentences in her head before she spoke them to me, which drew serious alarm.
“Don’t think, Leona, talk! Do you know him?”
“I don’t, but Svetlana surely does.”
“Okay . . .” It did come as a surprise, but stayed so for only a moment. It actually made sense. I’d heard most rapists turned out to be from the victim’s close circle. “But what’s your business with him?”
“He has information I need. If I’m right, his name is Marius Iordache, and he’s an investigative reporter with Gardianul.”
I tilted my head back, inspecting her. “And that is important because . . .”
“Because he wrote an article about a certain Executioner.”
“And why is that important?”
“You still ask? You heard him call Novac that yesterday.”
“So Damian’s the main character of the guy’s fantasy.”
“Don’t mock. The Executioner is the name of a file classified by the Romanian Intelligence Service, the R.I.S.”
The news came like a blast on the back of my head. “What?”
She looked aside and bit her lip, but didn’t answer. I opened my mouth several times before I could speak again. “And you drop this on me as if nothing?”
“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 connection
s 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 nailed 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.
