by Sara Clancy
His legs were stumpy and lean. From the way he had walked, there didn't seem to be much flexibility in his hip joints. A runner, maybe. Used to squatting. Forward and back motion, she reasoned. Attack from the side, low and quick. He’s not a kicker. She trailed her eyes up his short torso. Through the scattered holes of his shirt, she could see that he walked a fine line between lithe muscle and malnutrition. Then, bolted onto the sides of this rickety frame, were the arms of a boxer. Solid and thick. Not defined for the sake of vanity muscle. Nor swollen enough to slow him down. Those arms were built to move hard and fast. And that was a problem. You’re quicker on your feet, she told herself. Keep behind him. Strike low. Kick high.
Suddenly, he moved, cutting her evaluation short. Instead of closing the distance between them, however, he lifted his hand and began to chew on his thumbnail. Barely a second passed before he forced his hand back down, but Evelyn had seen it and knew it for what it was. A nervous twitch.
The conversations from before played over in her mind. He had never killed a woman before. With him standing there, hiding his eyes, and struggling not to chew on his fingernails, Evelyn doubted he had much experience even speaking to women. At least ones that weren’t genetically related to him. Nervous, unfocused, reluctant; she could work with that.
“I should probably say it now before I forget,” Evelyn chirped in the cheeriest tone she could muster. “Happy birthday, Aleksandr.”
He instantly resumed his impersonation of a statue. As if everything else was put on hold until he could properly process what was happening. Using her advantage, Evelyn beamed at him.
“It is Aleksandr, right? A lot was going on out there, I might have messed it up.”
Just when she was sure he wasn’t going to respond, he nodded. Once. If it weren't for the sway of his dirty hair, she might have missed it. Intent on keeping him off balance, she winked and pointed at him with finger guns.
“Yeah, I’m a clever one,” she boasted.
Her bluff worked. After staring at her for a long moment, he turned his head slightly to the door. Like he was looking for guidance on how to react.
“Hey, we haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we? I’m Evelyn Figueroa.”
His hand twitched at his side. A fraction of a movement that spoke volumes. Stress was mounting up in Aleksandr. He was aching to give into his coping strategy. A few harder shoves and he’ll snap. She knew it.
“I know,” she chuckled, waving her arms out to gesture at nothing in particular. “You probably don’t want to know stuff like that. My mom used to take me to pet stores to look at the dogs. She’d tell me, don't name them, because then you’ll become attached and you’ll want to keep them. Is that how it is for you?”
Again, he looked at the door. Still silent. Hand now shaking as he balled it into a fist.
“But what can I say?” she continued. “I’m an old-fashion girl. I think if you’re going to kill someone, you should at least know their name. And, from what I picked up, I’m your first. We should make sure that it’s special. Maybe some candle light. Soft music. One of us promising to be gentle with the other.”
He lowered his head a little more, hiding behind his hair as it fell forward. Hit a nerve with that one, she thought.
“Can I ask you a personal question, Alek? Why are you doing this? I mean, I get the urge to kill and all.” She motioned her hands before her, grabbing her chest. What she had was minimal, but hopefully, it would be enough to get the job done. “But I’m not exactly your type, am I?”
Aleksandr hunched forward, his face locked onto the floor and his body stone- still. She couldn't see his face anymore, but she didn't have to. Under all the dirt and grime, red splotches had begun to stain his neck. Blushing or enraged? she wondered. Only one way to find out.
“Is it your parents?” Evelyn asked. “You know what I don’t get? How can you be old enough to kill women, but not old enough to make your own decisions?”
“It’s not personal.” His voice was soft but rough, as if he hadn’t spoken more than five words in all his life.
“Not personal?” she repeated. “I gotta say, Alek, I’m taking it pretty damn personally.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “You don't matter.”
“Well, that's inconvenient.”
Not being able to see his eyes didn't dampen their focus. She could feel them gouging into her. Still, it was hard to tell which side of the pendulum he was on. She supposed it didn’t matter. Disgust and sexually repressed mortification would have the same result. He'd follow his parents’ example and kill whatever’s making him uncomfortable. Taunt him until he snaps.
“Are you deranged?” he asked.
A burst of hysterical laughter escaped her. “Can’t I just be happy I’m out of the cage?”
Aleksandr paused as if to sort out his thoughts. “Is that really what you want your last words to be?”
Evelyn hummed pensively. “You know what? Yes, I do. They have a deep, emotional significance to me. Besides, everything else is just going to be cursing you out in Spanish, and I don’t think you can do that justice.”
He made a sound, possibly a grunt, or a laugh; she couldn’t be sure. A thunderous pounding against the door made them both snap around.
“I guess your folks are getting impatient,” Evelyn said. “Can’t say that I blame them. You have been slacking.”
He took a step closer. That was all it took to shift the energy within the room. All tentative humor and awkwardness shattered, thrusting Evelyn into a boxing ring.
“Sorry,” Aleksandr whispered as he balled his fists.
She dropped into her fighting stance and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, me too. Nothing personal.”
There was no hesitation in his first punch. The right hook went straight for her head. Thrusting her arm up, she deflected the blow. Twisted her hips, she snapped her leg up, driving a kick into his side, just above his hip. It was the first time she had kicked someone without padding on and she wasn’t prepared for the throbbing pain of bone crunching against bone.
She staggered as the pain rippled up along her leg. Aleksandr grunted, the blow knocking him off balance. It didn't stop him from slamming his fist against her side, the strike was as fast and hard as she had anticipated. Taking the pain, she dropped down to one knee and stomped out in a side-kick. The blow would have shattered his kneecap if he hadn’t lunged towards her at the last moment. His weight hit her like a boulder. She couldn’t keep them up.
The moment they hit the floor, their battle of precisely thought-out strikes devolved into a bar brawl. Hitting, kicking, scrounging for the upper hand. They might have been equal in height, but Aleksandr had a good few pounds on her. He used each one of them to his advantage, wearing her out until she couldn’t keep him from scrambling on top of her, trapping her against the concrete floor. There, they reached a stalemate.
Every time he moved, attempting to deliver a punch or smack her head against the ground, his weight would lift. She never let the opportunity go to waste. He expected her to try and throw him off, not to attack from where she was. An elbow to his temple, a punch to his kidneys. He had to choose between keeping her in place, or inflicting pain himself. Their battle of body and wills consumed them, leaving them oblivious to the trembling until the room was bucking like an enraged bull.
They froze as a feral scream rose up like a coming storm. It started as background noise, barely heard over the earthquake, but soon became a deafening roar. The fluorescent light flickered and rattled within its sockets. Evelyn looked up just as it exploded. Burning sparks and fractured glass rained down on them. She screamed and pressed her face against the heaving floor just as Aleksandr flattened himself upon her, becoming a heavy blanket that crushed the breath from her lungs.
It wasn't until the rumbling stopped that she noticed the room had plunged into darkness. Nothing stirred. Neither of them dared to breathe. The moment remained suspended within a state o
f shock where they were each waiting for what was still to come. As the ringing left her ears and her surprise began to fade, a new terror surged forward to fill the void. There was no proof. No real reason for her to think it. But every instinct was telling her that something was deeply wrong. It was the same icy, sickening sensation she had felt as she watched the monster claw its way from the ceiling. Is it back?
She flinched as Aleksandr placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. A slight tap of reassurance. Evelyn froze, not waiting to remind him that she wasn't whomever he was imagining. The touch was an impulse honed into him after years of necessity. Who is he normally protecting? Despite her best efforts, he figured it out on his own and jerked his hand back.
“What was that?” he whispered.
Blinking into the pitch black, she shook her head. “How the hell am I supposed to know? This is your family’s freak show.”
As the words left her mouth, the realization sunk in. This isn’t the norm. He doesn’t know what’s going on and he’s scared. It wasn’t a comforting thought. What puts fear into a serial killer? There were very few answers that would lead to a good ending. And this didn’t seem like standard issue police procedure.
Slowly, carefully, Aleksandr’s weight lifted off of her. She rolled away from him the first second she got, wanting to put some distance between them, sure that this had to be some kind of trick. A sick mind game.
“Olga?” Aleksandr called.
Evelyn couldn't so much as make out his silhouette in the darkness. Keeping the wall to her back, she climbed to her feet, trying to use the sound of his voice to keep track of him.
“Petya?”
His bellow was met with silence. It seemed to agitate him, his voice becoming harsher with each repetitive call. The silence became palpable. Smothering. Combining with the stifling heat to choke her. Struggling to breathe, Evelyn peeled herself off the wall just far enough to look in the general direction of the gap.
“The camera’s off,” she mumbled.
“What?” Aleksandr snapped as he shuffled about. “Not possible. They record everything.”
She didn’t know why she pointed. It wasn’t like he could see her, but it felt like the natural thing to do.
“Well, the red light’s out.”
Once more, his shoes scuffed the floor. “What the hell?”
“Again, this isn’t my game,” Evelyn said.
The silence beyond the door bled in to fill the room. Aleksandr stopped moving, Evelyn’s breathing eased, and everything just faded away. Without sight or sound, she felt like she was lost in the deepest recesses of space. Aimless and alone. It was strange to know that she wasn’t. The man who had just been trying to kill her was lurking somewhere beyond her sight. And in this moment, he wasn’t the biggest threat anymore. It was the unknown that scared her.
A scream erupted. She lurched away from the wall, spinning around as she tried to pinpoint where it was coming from. It seemed to bounce off of the walls and rise up from beneath her feet. The disorientation didn’t last long, and she realized that the scream originated from the other side of the door. But it wasn’t like the one that had come with the ground-shaking boom. This was higher pitched without being shrill. And painfully human. Childlike.
“Ivan?” Aleksandr said in a low voice. A split second later, he was beating against the door, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Ivan! Olga, Petya, stop! Don’t hurt him!”
In response to his cries, the screams grew desperate. From her time in the cage, Evelyn had learned exactly what the sounds of torture were. She heard them now.
“Mother!”
Aleksandr tossed the word out like a placation. A submission. It wasn’t enough to stop the screaming.
“Father, please!”
The child’s wails morphed into words. A name. They cried out for Aleksandr, begged for his help. Each word was like a knife to her gut and she didn’t even know the kid. Metallic clashes covered the words, the strikes repetitive and even, and it took her a moment before she could decipher it all. Alek’s throwing himself at the door.
“Stop!” he pleaded and commanded at once, his voice frenzied and wild.
She had only known him for a moment, barely any time at all, but it still set Evelyn on edge to hear him so frantic. Like he was hanging on the very edge of madness. The terrified screams continued, gained strength, provoking Aleksandr to slam himself against the door again and again. It rattled and groaned on its hinges but remained in place.
“Ivan, hold on! I’m right here!”
Aleksandr’s words blurred together as he sped up his assault. Hearing it all play out, Evelyn’s mind finally caught up with what was happening. The child was who Petya had used to lure her in. That fragile, tiny little thing was now alone with two serial killers.
Her time in the cage had burned the videos into the back of her mind. They still played out there, repeating over and over, and she suspected they’d never stop. As the chaos grew around her, the images in her mind distorted. The child from the parking lot took the place of the women on the tables. She couldn’t take it. Bursting forward, she held out one hand and searched for Aleksandr. Her fingertips had barely brushed his arm before he shoved her away.
“Back off!” he roared.
“You can’t bust down that door by yourself,” Evelyn snapped. “You need help.”
“You’d help us? Why?”
“Because he’s a child and I’m not a psychopath!”
The desperate cries pushed Aleksandr’s hand. Not a word of cooperation passed their lips, but they fell into stride together, their shoulders bumping to keep track of each other as they found the door. Some prodding and shuffling, and they managed to center themselves within the frame; that way both of their shoulders would do most of the damage. Four steps back. One deep breath. Evelyn bounced on her toes as she tried to focus. This is going to hurt. Voicing it, even if it was only in her own head, helped her to make her peace with it. When Aleksandr tapped a finger against her wrist, she was ready.
They charged forward. The door rattled but didn’t open on the first strike. Or the second. Or the third. Stopping wasn’t an option, though. Not when the child continued to plead for their help. Two more attacks and the hinges finally snapped. The door slammed open and they staggered out into a blinding light. Something popped right by her ear. Shadows whipped around her like snow. A thousand things touched her skin and she threw herself back in an attempt to avoid them. Her retreat bumped her into Aleksandr. He didn’t shove her away this time. At last, her eyes adjusted, and the world took shape. The room was gone, lost within the drifting confetti, unfurling streamers, and bobbing balloons.
“What is happening?” The sudden silence made her panted breaths sound like shouts.
The colorful slips of paper felt like ice as they built up against her skin. It made her stomach churn, but it was impossible to keep them off of her. There were too many falling too fast. She squinted through the vivid rain, trying to catch a glimpse of the wall, the cage, anything or anyone. It was impossible to see beyond the wall of floating decorations. Streamers hung down like coiled snakes, seemingly attached to nothing. There wasn’t an inch of the ceiling that wasn’t on display. The few gaps between the balloons were filled by the constantly falling confetti. Where is it coming from? she wondered. It can’t just materialize out of nowhere.
Aleksandr tapped her arm again. One finger, barely making contact.
“Yeah,” she replied to the unspoken question as she studied the room. There was almost a foot between them and the wall of twirling balloons. “I’m seeing it too. Don’t suppose there’s any chance that your parents did this.”
“No,” he whispered.
She didn’t like how closer to a whimper the single word sounded. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Maybe it’s a present?”
“Radmiar isn’t here,” he said, his words and breathing coming fast and sharp. “None of them are here. They shouldn’t be here.”
“I get it.”
She didn’t, of course. But she needed Aleksandr calm, and figured that agreeing with him would somewhat soothe him. It worked, and he forced himself to take a deep, slow breath.
Besides the impossibility of the self-regenerating confetti, and the unlikelihood that they could fill the room so swiftly, there were other pressing questions. Were they still here? Where did the boy go? And why would they do any of it during an earthquake?
“What do you think made the noise?” Evelyn asked.
At the same time, Aleksandr noted that the lights weren’t on. Evelyn’s brow furrowed. There were no windows in this room. Without them, it should be as dark as it was in the cell. It took a moment to see what he meant. It was the layer of balloons that clustered above them. They were glowing. She stared at them, trying to understand. A dark shadow raced across her vision. It raced under the glowing layer, making the inflated plastic orbs bounce and shift. Her eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Aleksandr bellowed.
“Ivan?”
The balloons before them bobbed and twisted, drifting about on a breeze that didn’t exist. Like they were responding to him. Turning to face them. And just like that, Evelyn felt a thousand eyes upon her. The air felt thicker. Heavy and humid. The shift came with the inescapable knowledge that she was being hunted.
“Do you feel that?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Is this how these things normally go?”
“No.”
She pushed the mounting confetti off of her shoulders. “I don’t want to touch any of this.”
“Likewise.”
“But we’re going to, aren’t we?”
“You can stay here if you want,” he replied absently. “But I’m finding my brother.”
