Blitzed

by Lauren Landish

  I set the violin case down on the ground, unlatching the cover and withdrawing the instrument. I had fine-tuned it that morning, rosining the bow and making sure everything was ready before taking it out. Now, withdrawing it, I saw Francois's eyes open in surprise. He hadn’t been conscious for most of the day before, recovering from his coronation. Even when he was awake, he had to lie on his stomach, making sure there was no pressure on the wounds. In any case, he didn’t know what I was going to do. The violin case had been hidden underneath the black cloak that I wore on top of my dress, and he led the procession, not seeing me for most of the time.

  I blinked, the old emotions coming back to me as they had the day before next to the river. When I'd thought about what to do, music was how I spoke best. It was through music that I could express my heart, whereas words would fail in my mouth. Looking at the strings, I made sure to keep the picture of Felix in my vision as I laid my bow on the A string, ready for the first note.

  I knew I wanted to do a hymn, but I wasn’t quite sure which. I didn't want to come off as false, I wanted to speak purely to Felix, the rest of the world be damned. Nearer My God To Thee and others I knew by heart, I'd played them so often growing up that the notes were ingrained in my brain, but I wanted something better for him. Thinking, sitting next to the river the day before, I settled on two choices, both of which I had learned years before. Knowing I would only have the emotional strength for one, I practiced both, placing what faith I could in the knowledge that I'd make the right decision as time drew shorter.

  I drew my bow down, the first notes of the violin arrangement short and staccato, low and haunting over the quiet assembly. John Williams may have composed it, but the arrangement was all mine. I'd originally done it over a decade earlier, when the memories of 9/11 were still strong in the country and patriotism ran high. Hymn For The Fallen may have been written mostly for horns — a staple of Williams — but I'd done it first for a memorial service, and once again reached for it.

  I don't know if anyone else there knew what the hell I was playing, but it didn't matter. My eyes were on the image of Felix as I poured everything I could into the playing. When the last note drifted away, my cheeks were wet with tears, the chin rest of the violin also wet. I took the instrument and laid it on the memorial, touching Felix's picture. "I love you, Felix."

  Syeira spoke next in just Romani, her grief coming through clear even in the unknown language. She couldn't speak long, just a minute before the emotions overtook her, and she stepped back, unable to continue without making a scene. Despite the image of Romani women being fiery and passionate, Syeira conducted herself with the restraint of a born aristocrat. She stepped back, letting her sister lay a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  The words concluded and Francois knelt at his brother's memorial, taking from his pocket the lighter he had within. A few moments later, the smoke started to climb from the base of the memorial as it became a pyre, everything burning in the hungry flames. We waited through it all, silence reigning.

  As we walked back to the house, Francois took my hand. "I need you," he whispered, his voice thick with want and sadness-tinged desire. I stopped, letting the rest of the group continue on, and looked up at him. His throat worked, and he looked up at the sky before continuing. "I know it’s wrong to want you so badly after what we just did. But the best memories I have of Felix are with you. There was no other time when we've been closer."

  I nodded. Maybe nobody in the world would understand. Maybe his mother and aunt would think we were committing sacrilege, but in my heart, I knew the truth. We would make our own memorial to Felix, in our own way.

  "Meet me in the barn in ten minutes."

  Chapter 31

  Felix

  After dinner, I cleared the dishes for Mistress. "Very good, my pet," she praised me, stroking her fingers down my arm. Her silken touch caused my skin to break out in gooseflesh, and I shivered in joy. "And you ate with such restraint. I would’ve thought after so much exercise, you'd have taken the lamb and gnawed it like a hungry beast.”

  "Not at all," I said. “It was amazing, and I wanted to savor it.”

  She gave me a smile. "Now, go wash up the dishes, and if you’re back within fifteen minutes, I’ll reward you.”

  I couldn't help but rush through the house, carrying the few plates in my hands. One of the house staff guided me, leading me to the kitchen. Inside, there were a few of the staffers sitting down at the staff table, a large banquet-style arrangement that let the staff eat in a relaxed atmosphere. I'd seen similar arrangements in other buildings, long ago somewhere, but I didn't remember where. It didn't seem important anymore.

  I found the sink and ran steaming hot water through the tap, soaping the washing cloth as the water splashed down on the plates, rinsing them. Picking up the silverware, I rubbed them carefully, making sure to get every trace of food off of them. As I washed, my ears picked up the conversation amongst the staff. While I didn't speak Ukrainian, I could understand some of it.

  "Ah, I see that Svetlana already has him doing the dishes."

  "Don't give him a hard time. With the amount of drugs they've pumped through him over the past week, I'm surprised the man doesn't think he's Michael Jordan."

  "Karl, what’s with you and Jordan? You’re always talking about him.”

  “Well why not, he’s the greatest basketball player of all time . . .”

  "You sound like you’re in love with this Jordan. Enough of your crushes for one night, Karl. Get your guitar, we’ll entertain ourselves that way."

  Their words pierced through the fog in my brain. Jordan . . . guitar . . . Jordan . . .

  Her image came to me suddenly, the cherrywood hair, the smile, the little dimple in her left cheek when she smiled that matched the one on her back from a childhood accident. The way she'd looked on stage in Germany, playing her heart out on the borrowed electric guitar. The look in her eyes when we were in bed together, and the way her hands had covered herself so shyly the first time we'd made love. But most of all, I remembered that first time she ever played guitar for me, not an electric, but the custom guitar that Francois had in the cabin. The quietly confident notes, the rich voice that wasn't quite professional but still good, the way she'd looked as her tunes shifted from casual to love songs, and the look in her eyes when she met my gaze. In that instant, we both knew something had changed between us. My hands shook, and I quickly wiped the plates clean, leaving them in the drying rack. Seeing that the staff was ignoring me, my guide having joined her comrades around the table to enjoy some refreshments, I left the kitchen the same way I'd come in, hoping to keep up my charade.

  Alone in the hallway, I immediately turned and went down a side hallway, running my hands through my hair. Jordan! What had this bitch done to me that I could have forgotten her so easily? What sort of monstrous things were put in me — in my mind?

  You didn't forget her, though, a voice deep inside my heart said. Remember? In the shower, you may have been fantasizing about Svetlana, but what was in the background?

  "Guitar music," I whispered to myself. "Aerosmith."

  Her version, at least, the voice said. Now, before it’s too late, reach out to her.

  Spurred on by the voice in my head, I knew I had to act fast. Whatever it was that Svetlana was pumping into me, I couldn't trust that my clear-headed state would last. If they’d broken me so quickly the first time, what would happen with more exposure?

  Looking around, I found a set of stairs. I headed up them, hoping to find something that I could use to contact the outside world. I had yet to see a telephone or a computer of any kind, but they had to have them somewhere, right?

  I found myself in a long hallway, with open doors on each side of the hall. Looking in, I saw that I was in the staff's quarters, at least based on the beds and the clothes I saw in the first two rooms I stuck my head into.

  I didn't have much time, checking each room I could. In the next to last
, I found what I wanted, a laptop computer that appeared to be connected to the internet. Hoping that it wouldn't be password locked, I opened the cover and hit the power button. I was in luck, as the screen flashed to life to reveal a standard Windows desktop.

  I couldn’t read Russian, but Windows configurations are all the same, and the system was easy to figure out. Like Chinese and Japanese keyboards that I'd grown familiar with, the main keys were laid out in the standard English alphabet, with a subset that you could activate as you wanted. Switching between the two was done through a simple function keystroke, and I switched over to the English alphabet. Pulling up the web browser, I started typing. The numeric address was very long, and just the first stage of a last ditch security system that I'd had for years.

  After the address was input, I typed in my username and password. The password was actually one of a series, thankfully sequential enough in nature that I could still remember it despite the tendrils of fog in my mind. I could feel them creeping in again, trying to drain my will, to make me want to go back to my lovely Mistress . . .

  I slapped myself across the face hard. It helped enough, and I opened another tab, pulling up Youtube. I needed something to keep my mind focused where it needed to be. With effort, I typed in One into the search bar, pulling up the Metallica song. The guitar riffs started, and the fog retreated from my mind again with the thought of Jordan.

  Going back to my messaging tab, I finished my password. The beauty of it was that it never would work again, and unless you knew the encryption key, you couldn't guess the next password in the series. Hitting enter, I hoped I had a few more minutes. Just a few more.

  The screen pulled up the messaging tab, and I remembered that Vladimir told me Francois had sold me out. I couldn't message him, so who could I trust?

  "A boy can always trust his mother,” I whispered as I typed out my email quickly.

  This is Felix. I’m being held captive by a man named Vladimir and a woman named Svetlana. Not good, at the thought of her name, I could feel the fog start to wash over me again. Russian Mafia? I’m being held in . . .

  Wait a moment, where the hell was I? I opened another tab and did a quick IP address ping, giving me at least a city and country. Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine. Please, they’re brainwashing me. I need your help. Cannot trust Francois. I don’t know how long I can hold on.

  The control Svetlana had instilled in my brain struggled to reassert itself as the music faded, and I fought back, chanting to myself. "Jordan . . . Jordan . . . Jordan . . .”

  Tell Jordan I love her. And that I want to hear her play for me again.

  With the last of my will, I closed the tabs, and set the computer back. If someone gave the computer a cursory once over, they wouldn’t know what I'd done, not without going into log files that I didn't have the time to erase.

  Closing the laptop, I hurried from the room. I was halfway down the stairs when a voice came up to me. "Pet? What are you doing up there?"

  "I'm sorry, Mistress," I said. "I had to find a toilet."

  My lie wasn't convincing enough. "No Felix, you were up to something else. What were you doing?"

  I struggled, and only by repeating Jordan's name to myself was I able to not tell her. I knew once the fog of her control came over me fully again, I'd not remember that well anyway. All that was important was Mistress Svetlana, and that I'd been a bad pet. I only had to hold out a few more minutes. "Nothing."

  "Liar," she said, then sighed. "I shouldn’t have rushed you, letting you in the house before you were trained enough. My mistake. But, like any pet who’s let into the house too early and then makes a mess, it’s easy enough to correct. Sacha, please.”

  The guard, who I'd never exchanged words with, stepped out of the shadows behind Svetlana, his ever present rifle in his hands. "Yes, Miss Svetlana?"

  "Take my pet back to his container. It’s supposed to be cold tonight, so make sure that he has an extra blanket . . . and give him one of those small electric space heaters. Nothing too powerful. We’ll see to the rest of his punishment in the morning."

  "Yes, Miss."

  She pointed, and my head dropped. I walked down the stairs, following her gesture. As I passed her on the stairs, she held up her hand to stop me. "I'm disappointed in you."

  Tears came to my eyes and I nodded. "I'm sorry."

  She stroked my cheek, a small smile on her beautiful lips. "I know. And if you take your punishment well, this will all be forgotten."

  Sadness was replaced with something at her words, and with a spring in my step, I followed Sacha down the rest of the stairs. She had, in her infinite beauty and kindness, taken away my sadness, and replaced it with hope.

  Chapter 32

  Jordan

  I woke up in the morning, sighing in mixed disappointment and contentment. The night before, Francois and I had made love again, something that was becoming more and more frequent after the memorial ceremony. In the week since the event, we'd made love almost every night, Francois not even worried when I cried afterwards.

  As usual though, I woke up alone. His new duties had him busy from nearly sunrise, although he made it a point to be finished by mid-afternoon in order to have family time. Rolling over, I stretched my arms over my head, relishing the feeling of languid exertion. I was still lower in weight than I'd been before Felix was taken from me, but I was coming back.

  Climbing out of bed, I pulled on pajamas and walked out into the main room of the house, expecting to see Charani cooking or cleaning. Instead, for the first time in a long time, Syeira was up and looked active. "Jordan, we have to talk," she said urgently.

  "Of course. What’s up?"

  She shook her head. "Come with me."

  "What for?" I asked. She leaned in and in her eyes I could see something I hadn't seen in a very long time. Excitement. Hope. “What?”

  “Felix. He is alive.”

  Chapter 33

  Felix

  I woke up in the morning, stretching the kinks out of my muscles and smiling. Mistress had deemed me a well-behaved pet again the night before, so instead of spending the night outside in my container, I was allowed to sleep in the hallway outside of her room on the tile floor. I had even been gifted with a thin wool blanket, which I used not to cover my body, but instead to roll up and put under my head as a pillow. After all, the tiles were somewhat heated, but my head had no padding.

  Now it was six in the morning, and I was supposed to wake up. Finishing my stretch, I quickly smoothed my sleep clothes and folded my blanket over my arm, standing at attention next to Mistress' door. I’d been told very clearly last night that after waking, I was to remain there until she awoke or called for me.

  As I stood there, I saw some of the staff walk by as they began their daily duties, and some of them smirked. I knew what they said about me, even though they didn't realize it. I was her pet, her new toy, her slave. They thought those were insults. Oh, how they were wrong.

  Instead, I was proud of it. The idea that my service pleased her lent strength to my legs and steel to my spine as I stood there in my bare feet, my toes going numb but still not moving. I kept my eyes straight ahead, only turning to nod or greet those who went by and spoke to me in either English or French. Even those who said good morning in Ukrainian were still given a nod and a polite smile — they were at least trying. Those who smirked or looked at me derisively I just dismissed from view, they weren't worth my attention. After all, it wasn't my fault they couldn't understand.

  Finally, when the clock just visible at the end of the hallway said it was fifteen minutes after seven, I heard the sound that sent tingles down my spine and caused my heart to beat faster. She came to her door and opened it, stepping into the hallway and looking so beautiful I wanted to weep in adoration. Her platinum blond hair tumbled down her shoulders and her back like a halo, and her eyes sparkled with divine beauty and kindness. “Good morning, my pet.”

  “Good morning, Mistress,” I greeted her, t
rying not to let my cock grow hard. It wasn't that she didn't know I thought her beautiful beyond compare, but instead she wanted me to learn how to control myself. Giving in to the beastly passions that coursed through my body was intolerable. It had been the hardest lesson I was to master, and one I struggled with constantly.

  I was only partially successful this time, as my cock did twitch and swell, but not overly so. She noticed, and gave me the reward of a smile. “Very good. Your efforts are improving.”

  “Thank you. I apologize again about yesterday, and thank you for the generosity of sleeping here last night,” I said, meaning every word. “How may I serve you today?”

  “First, you need to wash and prepare yourself for the day,” She said. “We will add to your training, starting today. So, I want you to go to the kitchen and ask Maria for your morning breakfast drink, then after you have that, start your morning exercises. Shower, change into a fresh set of clothing, and meet me in the solarium by ten o'clock.”

  “Yes Mistress,” I replied, straightening up as tall as I could. I turned to go and obey, when her chuckle stopped me. I turned back, questioning. “Is there something else?”

  Her smile grew and she turned her cheek to me, pointing. “You did well. You may have a reward. Go ahead.”

  I trembled as I leaned down to kiss her perfect alabaster cheek, my nose inhaling every bit of her scent and thrilling me all the way to my core. I wanted to linger, to taste and to feel more, but resisted, knowing I wasn't worthy yet. Instead, I pulled back, unable to stop the soft whimper that escaped my lips when she brought her hand up and cupped my face. “You have learned so well, so fast,” she said. “You make being a good trainer both very easy and very difficult. Now go, and if you obey well today, I may let you sleep in my bedroom tonight. The carpet is softer than this marble tile.”