by Ana Calin
“Where’s Dad?”
Mom looked me in the eyes, searching for a way to put it, no doubt.
“No, God, please no!”
Mom’s expression grew alert, the way it had been at the hospital. She touched my wrist, voice soft and soothing. “No, baby, no. He’s all right, safe and sound.”
“Where is he then?”
This was the news she’d been nervous about, I could tell by the pause. “He’s been extracted.”
Chapter Eight
“Extracted? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Another nervous chew on her lip. “This BioDhrome thing, it’s – Alice, this must stay between us. Tell no one, not Leona, not anyone.”
“Just tell me, Mom!”
“Give me your word first. For your own safety, not my comfort.”
“I’m your daughter, you think I’d betray your secrets?” Her words hurt. I went for one of the oath formulations I’d learned from the gypsies as a child. “All right, may I die in chains, if a word on this leaves my mouth.”
Mom shuddered. “Not like that, please. Your promise suffices. Keep this all to yourself, for your own good.”
“No need to elaborate on that. Elaborate on extracted.”
She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. “I’ll start with the beginning so you understand.”
“Please do.”
“For many years, your father has been working with an international organization whose name he never told me. He’s been analyzing blood and tissue samples they delivered him. The results baffled your father, which filled him with enthusiasm in the beginning. After a while he withdrew into his work like a turtle to its shell. At the time I wondered if his work was claiming his mental sanity. Eventually it took its toll on our relationship. We had midnight fights more often than naught.” Her voice trailed off, lost in painful memory.
“Tell me about it,” I whispered. All those late nights when Dad had tiptoed to the master bedroom, the quarrels they thought I hadn’t heard—they played like a movie in my head.
“I pressured him to quit. I imagine that’s why his heart grew cold, and he found comfort elsewhere. Oh, dear baby, I haven’t asked – some coffee? Tea?”
With the premiere of her confession on my shoulders I nodded, and Mom put a kettle on the stove. I let her decide on whether coffee or tea, and moved a few inches in to let her sit by me and slide a loving arm around my back, as if to support me through what she’d say next.
“Your father is a BioDhrome target, they tell me, because he works with their direct enemy – an organization that calls itself ‘the good guy’ in comparison, but I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that they’re so powerful they could order the R.I.S. to take your father in while we were still at the hospital in Brașov, and that kind of power is dubious. To be honest, I’m no less wary of them than I am of BioDhrome. However, what matters now is that your father is safe with the R.I.S.”
“How can you be sure?” Worry broke through my voice, no matter how hard I tried to keep it chained.
“Because there’s nothing safer than their protection in this country.”
“The few words I exchanged with him back at the hospital, he didn’t seem anxious about his life. He wanted to stay here, with us.”
“Two of his colleagues and their families have been assassinated, Alice. Those men worked for the same organization, in matters related to genetic research. The R.I.S. are certain BioDhrome is responsible for the murders...and back in the mountains it’s suspected that they meant to murder you baby, in the same horrendous way—to teach your father a lesson before killing him, as well. Tiberius is a risk factor in this house. Without him we’re safer, but still. Officer Sorescu, the man you saw in here . . .” – even more careful now – “he’s around with his colleagues, just in case. Leona and George will be staying with us, too.”
“Does this mean we’re confined to these walls?”
“No. The R.I.S. agree that resuming a normal life is a must. Public places and crowds will be safest. You’ll be under surveillance.”
Mom was right, BioDhrome wouldn’t risk taking action in public. They’d try to get me alone, in secluded places or even at home. So surveillance and protection made sense.
But the feeling that Dad had been extracted against his will nagged at me. He’d been adamant at the hospital, his tone had left no room for doubt—he could protect us, especially by being present.
“What if I want to talk to him? Is there some number we can call? Some place we can go?”
“We can contact Agent Varlam.”
“I see.” So Hector was forcing my cooperation by using Dad as leverage. On a second thought, what if extraction was no more than a gross lie? What if he’d thrown Dad in a nasty cell to get information on Damian Novac out of him? I jumped to my feet, bumping into the table edge. My ears whistled in tune with the kettle on the stove.
“Well, I’d like a word with him right now,” I spat.
Mom stood up too, hand on my cheek to calm me down, blue eyes identical to mine wide and worried. Standing half a head taller though, she made me feel like a kid again.
“Alice, honey, the whole idea behind this was to keep out of touch. Why bother organizing an extraction, if family stops by at the hideout to say hello anytime they please?”
“And you accept this so easily?” I snapped, and brushed her hand off. “Are you really not worried about him, not one bit? His absence doesn’t bother you in the least?”
Now it was Mom’s turn to frown and apply a hard edge to her voice. “It’s not much difference to the past years, is it?”
“But this is different, Mom! BioDhrome is serious trouble that not even the R.I.S. might be able to protect him from.”
“I am worried about your father, Alice, believe me, but yes, I admit, I’m more worried about you. And if his presence puts you in danger, then I don’t need or want to see him again until the afterlife.”
Her words stabbed at me, but I kept my anger behind tightened lips. Dad had been cheating on her for a long time, and she knew it. Indeed, why should she give a shit? I tried for a peace-making tone.
“Well, I don’t need to see him, Mom. I just want to talk to Agent Varlam, to make sure Dad’s all right. I need to convince myself.”
“You’re hard to assure of anything, sweetheart. I’m telling you now: your father is safe. Now let it go.”
I heard the door between the antechamber and my room open. Then light steps. Leona’s steps.
Large empty eyes stared at me. Her face had lost much of its glow, and she hadn’t even brushed her hair. The experience we’d been through had taken away what was left of her carefree self.
Mom smiled at her and hurried to pour her a cup of coffee, eager to cover the subject of our conversation. Leona joined me at the table, huddled in my old pink bathrobe that came too short on her arms and legs.
“No milk, no sugar,” Mom said, placing the cup of coffee on the table.
Leona took a sip, careful not to burn her lips.
Lingering on her feet beside her, Mom tucked an ebony strand behind Leona’s ear, her gaze motherly. It brought back a flash of her teaching the small gypsy girl with the defiant scowl how to properly hold a pen.
Now, ten years later in the same kitchen where she’d learned to read and write, a finely educated Leona curled her olive-skinned fingers around a cup of hot coffee. She leaned her head back, savoring not only the aroma but also her surroundings.
There was love in her gaze as it crossed over every detail of the room – the cluttered wooden cupboards nailed to the walls over the counter, the door to the back garden with its frosted glass pane, the pots, kettles and spoons dangling from a wooden stripe with hooks above the sink like bells waiting to be played.
“I’ve missed this place,” she said, her hand gently stroking the nylon table cover.
Mom gave her a warm smile. “It’s missed you, too.”
Despite the promising
start, the conversation got stuck as soon as Mom uttered a “Did you sleep well?” Leona lowered her head and pressed her lips, as if not wanting to remember. But, if she’d had nightmares, I hadn’t noticed. She’d been still and quiet. Only George’s low moans had occasionally reached me.
George woke up late in the afternoon. His sudden screams made us all jump, and Mom almost threw down the door to the antechamber to attend him. His pained groans sent chills down my back. Leona slapped her palms over her face, her shoulders shaking in sobs.
Carefully, I took her in my arms. I threw a glance at the big, lazy clock on top of the bookcase – four in the afternoon. George had at least gotten a good chunk of sleep. Unlike Leona and me, who hadn’t even found the energy of losing the pink bathrobes we still wore like overgrown babies, curled on the couch, TV on.
Without Mom to promptly switch channels as soon as the news came on, always packed with tragedies and subliminal, “This is the end of the world,” Leona and I were now fully exposed to them. A report about a massacre at a remote cabin in the mountains of Bulgaria made both our eyes bulge.
A story frighteningly similar to ours, only that no one had been found, dead or alive. The perfectly groomed reporter’s words were like “deja heards,” her voice matter-of-fact but disturbed in its depths. Censored images that played on the half of the screen next to her face accompanied her story.
“Blood on pieces of clothing and torn curtains. Broken windows and –” And this is where my ears began buzzing, muffling the sound of the TV. So this one made it on the news.
“They’ll cover up in a few days max,” Leona said, close enough to my ear to pierce through the buzz.
“How is that supposed to work? How could footage like this be a mistake? They freaking filmed the mess. People are not stupid, Leona.”
“No, they aren’t. But there have been so many tragedies with so many explanations lately, that illegal experimentation won’t cross their minds. They’ll accept any animal attack, serial killer, drugs and orgies that ended up badly, you name it.”
Then the reporter said, “The police arrested Dr. Lazar Dobrev, a psychiatrist. He used to treat one of the missing persons. Dr. Dobrev set the man on the loose, even though he was known to have murderous impulses, which he shouldn’t have had trouble acting on at a height of two meters, and a hundred and seventy kilograms of muscle.”
“See, what did I tell you? They found Mad Conan to blame it on. As for the old man, he’s a scapegoat,” Leona said as images of a sorry old doctor with Einstein hair, cuffed hands and fragile body in a tweed suit appeared on the screen, led to a police car by two men in black uniforms. According to the reporter, the car exploded only shortly later, the doctor and the policemen all dead. The connection to Dad fired in my head – first extraction, then death.
“Jesus, Leona, this is bad! This is real bad!”
She looked at me, startled by my reaction. In a few breaths and with no second thoughts I broke my oath and told her about the extraction, glancing at the door to make sure Mom didn’t catch me on it.
“Help me, Leona,” I pleaded. “I need to see him, make sure he’s not being held hostage and questioned like a heretic, then maybe even killed in some staged accident!”
“And who’s gonna tell you where Dr. Preda is? Apparently no one wants you to know.”
“We’ll go see Varlam at the station. I’ll find a way to get him talking.”
“You don’t have his number?”
I snorted. “I can’t talk to him about these things on the phone, can I?”
Leona studied me for a while. A deep-in-thought V formed between her eyebrows as she assessed my face, and the moment Mom walked back into the living room, she began talking without warning or turning her eyes from me.
“There’s no way I can spend days here without something proper to wear.”
She sounded so convincing, I fell for it myself. “You can have anything from my wardrobe,” I babbled.
“You’re petite, Alice, you don’t own anything I can actually take out on the street or to campus tomorrow.”
Her eyes danced on mine, maybe in expectation for me to kick the ball back at her. But, since I was too puzzled to produce a sound, she went on herself. “I need to buy a few things.”
I finally understood her game, but Mom intervened as if burnt with red iron before I could say anything.
“Absolutely not. You’re not going out now—it’s dark.”
Leona’s face froze for a moment but, as she turned to Mom, it had already regained its elasticity and added a rakish smile.
“What if we ask one of the boys outside to accompany us to Marvimex?”
“They’re here as watchmen and not escorts,” Mom admonished.
“Then please, have a word with them,” Leona said.
Mom gave me a suspicion-filled look, which I blocked with a shrug.
“I’d love to get out of the house for a bit,” I said. “It feels like prison, Mom.”
It was the begging tone that unbalanced Mom’s resolve, no doubt. After little more insistence from our part she allowed us to get ready while she went out, looking for Officer Sorescu and his colleagues.
I parted the curtains with two fingers and spied – much like old Mrs. Teodorescu from across the street did each time a car pulled up in front of one of the neighboring houses. Mom crossed the street, keeping the long winter coat wrapped closely around her body.
To my surprise, she entered the corner bar where loud drunkards burned away their time gambling cigarettes and bottles, sometimes their wives’ jewelry, sometimes their wives. With its barred windows and narrow entrance the place was perfectly designed to keep interest at bay. Yes, suited for undercover tailing operations, why not.
Leona and I went to the antechamber, then tip-toed by a slumbering George to my room, where we got dressed.
Leona tossed over to me a white wool sweater and a pair of tight jeans that reminded me too much of what Svetlana had been wearing in the mountains. The jeans were a couple of years old and had gone through repeated washing along with the other pairs, but I’d only worn them once on the day of acquisition. Tony had once labeled this particular pair “slutty”.
A change of clothes was already folded for Leona on the rocking chair by the window. I watched her sinewy shape dance into it and recognized Mom’s elegant red turtleneck sweater and a pair of white pants.
“How do I look?” she said.
“When did Mom give you the threads?” If Mom had offered Leona access to her wardrobe, what was the point of shopping, especially at five in the evening?
“She didn’t. I helped myself after the shower today.” She winked. “Your clothes are all too small, and I figured Jenna wouldn’t mind. She never did before.”
“But she’ll see you’re wearing her stuff when we go out. Marvimex won’t stand, she’ll know we’re going somewhere else. Plus, even if we manage to persuade her we’re going shopping, we might not even make it to Varlam with one of those watchmen on our heels.” I sounded increasingly desperate as I realized the holes in our plot.
“Oh, we’re going to Marvimex, all right. I can only wear Jenna’s clothes as an exception. Once we’re there, I’ll talk the guy into accompanying us to see Hector. I’ll tell him you and I have confidential information, and that our seeing him needs cover.”
“He won’t buy it.” I shook my head. “It’s weak, it won’t work.”
“Wanna bet?” Leona retorted, a mischievous grin quirking up a corner of her mouth.
In less than half an hour we stood under the large sign creaking askew above the entrance to Marvimex, the rain rapping on our umbrellas. The crooked plate read “Shopping Center,” yet the place wasn’t far from a bazaar. Engulfed by grey blocks of flats with walls damped by rain that testified half century of communism, it looked like a stable with dozens of barracks in the middle of a concrete fortress. Small, round men and women wearing thick golden chains around their necks populated the
m, offering contraband like circus performers did their tricks. Still, many shoppers preferred the place to the Tomis Mall for its cheap and often unique wares.
Officer Sorescu sheltered Leona under a dark blue umbrella. I caught glimpses of her profile now and then as we slithered through strings of people. I read seduction in her smile, and knew the batting of her thick lashes was having the necessary effect. Sorescu would accompany us to the station for a confidential meeting with Agent Hector Varlam.
I lost sight of them as a large and boisterous family squeezed me between them, making me lose my umbrella in the process. When I emerged from their midst like from a tornado, I found myself in a completely different part of the bazaar. Persian rugs hung among lamps and chandeliers of different shapes, their glass icicles clinking whenever they trickled too low and touched my hair.
This part of the bazaar was good as empty of life except for a few passer-by shadows here and there. I spun among the hanging rugs, curtains and lamps that surrounded me the way circus gadgets would a child. Intertwined patterns engraved into the carpet fabric had a hypnotic effect. An effect that was all-surrounding.
“Miss Preda.”
I turned on my heels and gasped.
The largest man that must’ve ever existed stood before me, his head looming far above mine. He wore a black cloak that reminded me of a priest’s garment. Cold sweat trickled down my temples.
His eyes shone in a way that wasn’t natural. I realized on the spot he must’ve been a freak of nature, for which the Persian Empire was once so famous. Except that he was definitely here now, thousands of years off.
“Now this is unexpected,” his voice boomed.
The brightness of his eyes blinded me to the details of his features. It took only another second for me to realize he was under the influence of the gas. Connections fired in my mind – the psycho from the news, the one who’d supposedly killed all those people in the mountains of Bulgaria. He was a freaking giant.
“What are you?” I whispered.
“The Executioner’s shadow.”
