Four days after my rescue I found myself in the basement of a techno club restaurant, staring at the body of the man who was apparently my brother.
“What the hell happened, anyway?” I asked his dead body, knowing I wasn't going to get the answers I needed. “Why the hell was I kidnapped?”
“I knew I'd find you here,” Jordan said behind me quietly. I turned and saw her leaning against the door of the freezer, her arms crossed over her chest and a kind look on her face. She was just as confusing as everything else. I could see she was amazingly beautiful, with a voluptuousness to her features, but I just couldn’t quite recall anything despite getting a feeling every time I laid eyes on her. “It's quiet.”
“It is,” I agreed, turning back around to look back down at Francois. “After four days of chaos and noise, I find myself needing more of it.”
“I'm sorry that we haven't given it to you,” Jordan said, crossing the room to stand on the other side of the table. “I've spoken with some of the doctors and psychologists that are helping us — they said you would need it, but until you’re safe, we can't seem to find any.”
“I just want answers,” I said, sighing again. “Why was I there? Why was I brainwashed? What am I supposed to do about these feelings that I have? What the hell is going to happen to me?”
My fingers trembled as I gripped the edge of the table, wanting to scream at Francois's body, demanding that he give answers.
Finally, Jordan's voice cut through my confusion. “Felix, what's on your back?” she asked quietly, her voice still tender. “I'm sure you've wondered how you got that X-shaped scar.”
“I have,” I said. “It is a strange scar.”
Jordan reached down and unbuttoned Francois's shirt, stripping it off of him. She reached across and pulled him onto his side, showing me the similar scars on his back. “There are other reasons, but I think in the end, this is the main reason why.”
“What are these?” I asked, tracing the ruptures on his back. They were obviously fresher than mine, the skin still pink and raw even in death. “Are they from our childhood?”
Jordan let Francois's body roll back and zipped up the bag. “Let me tell you the tale of two women, two men, and how forty-seven minutes total created a gulf that was nearly insurmountable.”
It took her over an hour, at the end of which we were both shivering from the cold of the meat locker, but the chill that coursed through my body was deeper than that. “All of this, over a gold crown and an apparently meaningless title, or at least one of little power?”
“I wouldn't say little power,” Jordan replied. “Twelve of the fifteen men who rescued you were relatives of yours. They risked their life for a man they had never even met, simply because he was their king and their kin.”
I shook my head, rubbing again at my temples. “Jordan . . . this is difficult for me. I know that you and I, and apparently Francois, were in love?”
She sighed again. “We were. I'll tell you the story, but not here. I'm freezing, and looking at Francois — it hurts too damn much. Come to my room, it'll be quiet there.”
We left the restaurant and made our way through the darkened streets, going back to the cheap inn that we'd rented for the night. Jordan explained their line of thinking, which was that the lower profile we traveled, the less likely we were to incur Vladimir Ilyushin's notice.
“We met when you literally ran me over in a museum,” Jordan said as we walked, the streets quieter than I'd expected. “At first you two kidnapped me because you thought that I might have been able to identify you.”
Something stirred inside of me, a few more puzzle pieces falling into place, and I blinked. “I . . . I think I remember, at least some of it.”
“Good,” Jordan said, smiling. “Let it come in time. There's no rush.”
“Why not?”
She reached up, stopping her hand an inch short of my face before dropping it back to my side. “Because you’re back, and while I can see it in your eyes you don't yet recognize who I am, or what we shared together, I'm a more patient woman than you think. Come on, let's get you some peace and quiet in order to think, you've probably had enough new information for the day.”
Jordan led me back to the inn, making sure I was safely in my room before pausing at the door. She hesitated, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. She wanted to join me, but she also knew that the man she saw in front of her was not the same man who had taken her to bed before. “Okay, well, I guess I'll see you in the morning then,” she said. “We've got a long ride in front of us. We’re going to make a straight shot all the way to Albania. Syeira and Charani are looking forward to seeing you again, and we have to bury Francois.”
“Okay. Good night, Jordan.”
I laid down in bed, thinking I'd be unable to sleep, until I woke up in the middle of the night, screaming in terror as flashbacks and withdrawals coursed through my system. I’d started the tremors two days after leaving the estate, and I wondered just how much drugs Svetlana had been pumping through me on a daily basis. At least I knew how they'd done it, with Maria the chef most likely dosing me with the twice daily supplement shakes. God alone knew how else they'd done it, but since being freed, I'd found myself jumping anytime I heard a hissing sound.
It was the hissing sound that had me scared out of my wits this time, as outside in the streets a nearby factory that obviously still used steam for something inside, let loose their built up boiler with a long, hooting hiss that penetrated the walls of the inn and crept into my sleep.
Suddenly, the door to my room crashed open and Jordan was there in her night clothes, rushing to my side and pulling me close. “Felix, are you okay?” She asked in a whispered voice, and I felt her arms coming to embrace me.
“The gas . . .” I managed to get out as two more faces, men from our escort party who we'd met just yesterday, arrived at the doorway only to be waved off by Jordan. They closed the door behind them, leaving us in the dim light and privacy. “Please, light. I need light.”
Jordan reached over and turned on the table lamp, and I did my best to hide my fear that was coursing through me. I was a broken thing, not a man any longer, afraid even of the darkness and the sound of a hissing steam pipe. Her skin was warm, even though her flannel sleep shirt, and there was something in her scent that helped.
“Close your eyes, I’ll sleep in here tonight if you don’t mind.”
For some reason, her words calmed me even more, and I felt my eyes slipping closed again. I awoke to find that the sun had risen and that the morning had come without any more nightmares. Jordan sat uncomfortably propped against the headboard of the bed, my head in her lap and her hips twisted in a manner that promised a low back ache later that day. Still, she was sleeping, her hand resting on my chest, a small smile on her innocent features. I felt another twinge in my chest, and even though I wasn't sure about my feelings still, conflict entered my heart.
Jordan had risked her life for me. She’d given up what I had heard was millions of dollars in family money to get into the Ukraine and get me back, and cashed in honor debts that stretched back generations. And there was no guarantee that my memory would come back, or that once it did, I would have the same feelings for her that I once had. Still, there was something about the way she looked in the morning light, innocent and pure, that pulled at me.
Her face pinched, and she blinked her eyes, waking up to see me looking up at her. “Good morning, Felix. Did you sleep well?”
“Much better after you joined me,” I acknowledged, taking her hand in mine and stroking the back of it. “But you must be in pain with the way you’re sitting.”
“Don't mention it, and I hope that some morning stretches will work out the worst of it,” she said with a light groan. I lifted my head from her lap, our fingers lingering on each other as she pulled her legs the rest of the way up onto the soft surface of the bed and bent forward, stretching her low back and hamstrings slowly. I was mesmerized by
her fluid movements and wondered if the flexibility had always been there, or if it was the product of the long hours of training I heard she'd done to prepare for the mission. After a moment, Jordan looked over, a smile on her lips. “You're staring.”
“Uhm, I think I should get a shower,” I said, letting go of her hand and getting up. I stopped at the door, turning back and trying probably unsuccessfully to hide the growing desire building inside me. “Jordan, it's not that I don't find you beautiful. It's that . . . well, I guess you deserve the truth. I still haven't remembered our relationship. I get little feelings around you, but for now, that’s all I can remember.”
Jordan blinked, then nodded, smiling. “Thank you for your honesty. Go get your shower, I'll make sure our breakfast is ready. We have a long drive, and your mothers are eager to see you again.”
Chapter 40
Jordan
The drive was long and hard, but Felix was a total gentleman the entire time, insisting that I take the more comfortable shotgun seat of the car and that he drive. “You comforted me last night and are probably feeling it right about now,” he said when I protested at first. “You let me get a solid chunk of sleep. Now it's your turn to relax and rest some. If there's a problem, I can swap out with one of the other guys.”
The other guys were riding in their own car, a van with an ice chest that held Francois's body, and as our little two-vehicle motorcade wormed its way back to Albania, I dozed, unconsciously glad that Felix had let me rest. I awoke in time for lunch and our first refueling stop, where Felix did a few minutes of jumping jacks to loosen himself back up and to re-energize while I just relaxed on the grass and watched while eating something that kind of resembled a corn dog, but had a gamier, richer flavor.
“You keep doing that, and the car's going to smell like a locker room,” I joked, sipping at my bottle of Coke. Regardless of where you go in the world, you can find Coke, and you at least were assured that it was safer than the water in a lot of places. My intestinal track had beefed itself up some in the months I was with the Hardys, but I still wasn't quite ready to trust my gut to anything but Coke or Evian, and I hadn't seen Evian in the little gas station store we stopped at. “Not that I mind too much, of course.”
“I'd have thought you'd be doing them with me,” Felix replied. “You’re in amazing shape.”
“Thank you,” I demurred in reply, “but that is a completely short term thing. I’m quite happy being in shape but not an athlete, and plan on spending the next week at least as far from anything approaching physical exercise as I can without looking like a total sluggard.”
“I bet you'll still look beautiful,” Felix said, then stopped his exercise, a confused look on his face. “Sorry.”
“Don't be,” I said, touched but also hurt. He'd never had to apologize for complimenting me before, after all. To hide my hurt I stood up, brushing off my pants and balling up my trash. “Come on, I'll drive the next hour or two until we need to take a pee break.”
We reached the Hardy farm just as the moon was clearing the horizon and the Adriatic was turned into a milky white sheet of glass from the reflected light. I was glad too, because in addition to being exhausted, I was feeling depressed. Despite the fact that Felix was continuing to remember more and more as we drove, for some reason he wasn't recalling anything about me or our relationship. I could tell he found me attractive, but the thought of losing all that we’d been through together drove splinters of fear into my heart. I was glad when we pulled up in front of the house, as riding with Felix had turned from an opportunity to find further ways to unlock his memory, to a ride through my own insecurities and concerns. I needed support, and I needed to think.
Syeira was standing next to Charani as we pulled up. Charani had known since the day we extracted Felix that her son was dead, although she didn't know the details. I hadn't been able to tell her over the phone but promised her the full recollection when we got back.
Getting out of the car, I came to her, and her eyes were already brimming with tears as she looked at the now silent van that had pulled up behind me. “Francois?”
“He's in the van,” I said, pulling her into a hug. We embraced, not crying but just sharing strength for a moment, before turning to see the scene that added a measure of happiness to our sadness, as Syeira held her son in her arms again. Felix was stiff at first before his mind opened the locks inside and he embraced his mother, his memories of her starting to return. “He still has a long way to go.”
“We’ll be his strength,” Charani whispered. “Jordan, tell me, at least now before I see his body, did Francois die well?”
I nodded, kissing her on both cheeks. “Your son died with honor. He died my husband, and he died to protect me and his brother.”
“Then help me carry him inside. The burial and memorial will be tomorrow. He’s been out of the earth for too long already.”
I helped, refusing the assistance of the two other men, who were staying in the barn for the night in the makeshift barracks we'd had for the mission before returning to their families the next day. We carried Francois to his bedroom, where we laid him on the plastic covered top. The room was cool, the last vestiges of winter still clinging to the night, and while it wasn't the best environment, there was nothing better available. Considering the way he'd died, we couldn't involve the authorities, after all. Thankfully, the same rules applied with the way Felix's apparent death had been handled, and there were no rigmaroles to go through on bringing him back to life either.
We unzipped the heavy bag, Charani helping me unwrap the body. There was remarkably little discoloration or bruising on his body, and except for the crusted blood around his entrance and exit wounds, he looked calm and remarkably lifelike, as if he were just sleeping. Charani stopped and stroked her son's cold cheek. “My boy, my precious boy,” she whispered. “Where did I go wrong?”
“You didn't,” I answered, taking her shoulders. “You raised a man who atoned for his mistakes and died to save us. Come, let's make sure he looks ready for tomorrow.”
She leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, then found the steel and strength inside herself that she'd helped her sister with just a month prior. Nodding once, we went to Francois's closet and picked out his clothes, choosing a wool suit that was in the urban French styles that he preferred. Working together, we spent the next hour cleaning and dressing him, using a cotton bandage to pack and seal his wounds. Our goal was to bury him with no inorganic fibers on is body so that he would truly return to the earth. By the end, my lower back was on fire from lifting and turning him, but we finished eventually, and I looked down on him, tears in my eyes. “Come on. If I stay, I'm going to cry, and I want to save my tears for tomorrow.”
“You go,” Charani said, finding a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “You've had days to say your goodbyes. I'm going to spend the night with him.”
I went over and got another blanket from the closet, wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down next to her. “Then we'll do it together.”
* * *
The next day, the four of us carried Francois's body to the family plot, where we buried him near his grandfather, his cousins, and members of his clan stretching back generations. There were no headstones, no markers. It was only from memory and tradition that anyone knew who was buried where.
As opposed to Felix's memorial in France, Francois's burial in Albania was attended only by Charani, Syeira, Felix, myself, and a local priest, who was a member of the tribe and would log it in the official tribal registry. Despite his efforts, the rest of the tribe had deemed Francois to have died without honor, and his death wouldn’t be respected.
We were dressed strangely for a burial, as each of us was wearing jeans and work clothes. It was a sign of respect, however, as the four of us dug his grave by hand, using shovels from the estate to make it deep and large enough for him. When that was done, we lowered him by hand, then heaped the dark, clay-rich dirt b
ack into the hole over his cotton shroud. When it was finished, I was sweating, although I think some of the wetness on my face was tears. Still, it was cathartic, and I don't think I'd ever said goodbye in such a complete fashion.
Afterward, Syeira prepared a combined welcome home and memorial feast for Felix and Francois, while Charani changed. For the next month, she'd wear black, mourning for her son even when few others would. For my part, I was also in a black mood, although for different reasons. It was nearly sundown when Charani found me, sitting in what was going to become my room, wearing my black pants and blouse I'd chosen for the dinner. “I'm the one who lost my son, yet you look more despondent than I,” she said, coming over and sitting beside me. “I know part of it is that you lost Francois, but I suspect part of your feelings are because of Felix as well.”
“They are,” I whispered, looking down at my hands. So many times during the day I'd wanted to reach out and find comfort in taking Felix's hand, but each time he wasn't there, his attention on Syeira or lost in his own thoughts. “I don't know how to reach him.”
She thought for a second, then went over to the closet. She opened it and withdrew a familiar looking case from inside. “Francois had more than one of these prepared, you will find,” she said, unsnapping the cover. “You and he shared the love for this that will give you comfort for the rest of your life. It would honor me if you would take this and play it for him, and for Felix. If I remember correctly, it was how you reached him the first time.”
She lifted the case, and I once again looked at the black carbon fiber of Francois's acoustic guitar. Fresh tears mixed with a smile as I looked at it, so unlike any other guitar I'd ever played in my life, with the steel wrapped strings and neck made of artificial materials, unaltered and unwarped by temperature or humidity. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
Double Dealing: A Menage Romance Page 26
