Travis listened intently, and then looked around for a moment. “You’re right,” he said, gesturing toward a graffiti-tagged sign upon which Blaire could make out the word Beach and an arrow that pointed north.
“Let’s go then.” Blaire grabbed her bags.
While walking the cracked pavement in the heart of the town, they noticed that Borslav was even more derelict at its center. For late afternoon, the place was unnervingly quiet. Every so often a resident crept along the street, offering them only a peculiar expression.
“Excuse me,” Blaire called to a woman who sat in a folding chair in front of a shop with closed shutters. “Can you tell me where St. Sebastian is?”
The woman’s expression didn’t change as it seemed cemented into her face, even as she raised her finger and pointed north.
“Thank you,” Blaire said, as they continued on their current path.
A few moments later, they ran into another towner, who had his coat raised high above his neck, halfway covering his face.
“Hello,” Blaire said as the man looked at her strangely, his eyes wide as if he were trying to see something in the dark, although it was still light outside. He kept walking without a word.
“Guess they’re not used to tourists around here,” Blaire said.
“I’ve received worse looks from better people than these,” Travis responded. “Now we’re talkin!” He pointed down one of the side streets at what appeared to be a pub at the end of the block.
A faded sign above the door announced the establishment as Berek’s Beer House.
Just outside the entry several boisterous men spoke noisily over upbeat music that flooded into the street.
“Looks like a great party,” Travis laughed as he spoke.
By the time they reached the far end of town, Blaire was exhausted. Looking into the distance, she spotted an ominous building and pointed it out to Travis.
“That’s it?” Travis’ voice struck a high-pitched note.
“Has to be.”
There was a moment of deep silence as they both took in the sight of the decaying structure that was to be their new home.
“Well, I have never met a celebrity before.” Travis spoke just above a whisper, breaking the hush.
Blaire turned a questioning eye to him before her stare was summoned back to the odd edifice.
“Do you think we’ll actually get to meet Count Dracula during our stay in his home?” Travis said with a chuckle, noting the iron grating that lined the perimeter of the roof, good for impaling peasants.
Blaire snickered, “It’s not that bad.” She adjusted her shoulder bag and marched forward.
“Yeah, right.” Travis grumbled, hanging back to eye the pathetic place for a few seconds longer.
Despite the brisk summer weather, Travis and Blaire had broken a sweat by the time they reached the gravel-covered circular driveway of the massive property. Across the lawn Blaire spotted something, rocking awkwardly on the currents of a particularly robust breeze. She stopped and allowed her bag to fall to the ground. Crossing the lawn, Blaire suddenly felt surrounded by the children she had yet to meet. She knelt down to pick up what she assumed to be a broken toy. As her fingertips grazed the head of the decapitated doll, she felt all of the invisible children plunge away. Looking around, Blaire saw that there were no other toys anywhere on the property.
“You okay?” Travis called out.
“Dolly,” Blaire mumbled.
“What?”
Blaire held up the head of the doll, which had the name Dolly scribbled across the top of the forehead in black marker.
“This is no time to play dolls, Blaire.” Travis’ eyes twinkled as he made his way over to her.
“Ha, ha,” Blaire said though she was not amused.
Only a few scraps of hair remained on Dolly’s head, leaving a mostly bald surface that displayed numerous round pores from which heavy blonde ringlets once sprouted. Blaire ripped off the clear plastic that was wrapped tightly around Dolly’s head, suffocating her. One of Dolly’s eye sockets popped open, revealing a periwinkle blue eye.
A grimace spread across Travis’ face. “I thought these kids were just homeless, not crazy.”
A breeze carried the voices of the children from St. Sebastian, they snaked through the trees and wrapped themselves around Blaire, and she returned her attention to the building. Dropping the gruesome doll head back to the ground, Blaire grabbed her bags and caught up to Travis who was almost at the front door.
After knocking for nearly ten minutes, Travis sat down on his luggage.
“I don’t believe this,” Blaire said, huffing as she leaned up against the step railing. “Just a few minutes ago, we could hear movement and laughter.”
“And now it’s completely quiet. I am about ready to buy a ticket back to the United States.” Travis arched the side of his mouth in skeptical mocking, as he got up and leaned out over the side of the covered stone porch trying to see into one of the windows.
A “HELLO” reverberated off the walls, and left Travis’ lungs depleted.
“I’ll go check around back.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“No. Stay here just in case someone comes to the door.” Blaire slipped off the porch and around the side of the building.
“Hello!” She heard Travis yell again as he banged on the door.
Blaire walked alongside the building, passing a crumbling shed, and then coming to the backyard that opened up to about half the size of a football field. It was bordered on the other side by a rocky cliff that dropped off to an isolated beach.
Blaire jogged to the edge of the cliff and watched as waves crashed upon the archipelago of oversized rocks that broke up the smooth landscape of sand.
At one end of the oversized yard, a small cottage stood. In front of the cottage, a massive tree thrived, and a few yards to the right of it was a bench that sat next to a life-size cement statue of the Virgin Mary. Much further down the beach, Blaire spotted a small home that sat close to the cliff, but she would hardly have called them neighbors of the orphanage. Besides these mute companions, St. Sebastian was alone up here. Blaire turned from the shore, noticing for the first time the huge piece of litter that had once been a pool. She curled her lips in disgust.
Turning back to the sea, somehow the idea that working in this secluded place would be fulfillment of a dream was again recaptured, and she brushed off the improbability of the setting and laughed to herself. Mingled into hers she found the laughter of another. It grew louder, bellowing against hers like lumps of dense oil plopping into water, and then melting seamlessly into a soft giggling.
Blaire turned back to St. Sebastian. “Hello?”
On the other side of the pool, a little girl stood, her back facing Blaire. Her height alone told Blaire that she could not have been any older than eight. The girl wore a ruffle-drowned lavender dress that must have once been a prized possession, but was now little more than a rag. Her head tilted downward as she spoke to someone. Blaire took long strides to get closer. Auburn curls that rarely saw a comb were drawn up tightly around the girl’s neck.
“Excuse me.” Blaire called, but the child was unbothered. Delicately peeking over the girl’s shoulder, Blaire noticed a small flight of steps at the end of which was a red door that led to a basement under the building.
“Excuse me,” Blaire said touching the girl’s shoulder. The child snapped her head back to look at Blaire. Her eyes were covered with a milky white film, two purplish circles peering out blindly. Under her eyes the skin sagged as if she had never slept a day in her life. Her juvenile facial features were twisted in terror as if she had seen something that she could not un-see, something for which eyes were unnecessary.
“Ida?” the little lavender-clothed girl called out the name, as she lifted her shaking hand toward Blaire. Though the girl could not see Blaire’s chocolate brown hair, her full lips, or the deep amber hue of her skin, the girl’s film
-stricken eyes poured over Blaire and the young teacher was sure that no one had ever seen her more clearly.
Blaire took a gentle hold of the lavender girl’s hand. “No, my name is Ms. Baker. What’s your name?” The girl looked back down the cement steps into the shadowy square of darkness then back to Blaire, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“Dariya.”
“It’s nice to meet you Dariya. Did you hear me calling to you?”
“Kind of,” the girl whispered, scratching her neck furiously like a flea-ridden puppy.
Blaire looked down at the door. “Did you hear something down there?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you mean, kind of?” Blaire asked. Dariya leaned in close to Blaire who, in turn, bent further to hear, their faces now only inches apart.
“I heard it in here,” the child confided, the last word almost whistled in a breathy hiss as Dariya pointed her index finger to her temple. Blaire followed the child’s penetrating gaze as it went back down the stairs, and both of their attentions were now focused squarely on the ominous door.
“Who are you?” a voice commanded.
A petite, dark-haired woman with a wicked scowl etched into her face was suddenly standing behind Dariya.
“Blaire,” the young woman blurted out, gripping her chest in surprise. “Blaire Baker. I’m from United Care. I’m here with another volunteer, Travis Wells. We’re supposed to start today. Marko Anglov is expecting us.”
Without a word, the woman grabbed Dariya and pulled her away from Blaire, back toward the front of the building.
“Is she okay?” Blaire asked the woman, thinking Dariya seemed weak and barely able to keep up.
“Dariya is fine.”
“What was she doing out here?”
The emotionless woman stopped, faced Blaire, and spoke, “You are early.” She said before turning briskly and hustling around the corner of the building, leaving Blaire to take in the curtness of her comments.
Blaire was quick on the woman’s heels. “Early? I don’t think so. Today is the seventh, and we were expected on the seventh. Can I speak with Mr. Anglov?”
Wrestling Dariya up the steps to the front door, the pinch-faced woman turned back to Blaire one last time.
“You are early. There is no room ready for you. We have to fix up a room. Come back tomorrow.” The facial expression on the old crone had not changed since her very first question to Blaire.
“But we don’t have anywhere to go. The last train has left Borslav and—”
The unwavering woman interrupted Blaire and hurled a cutting response. “You are early. Come back tomorrow!” she ordered before slamming the door, causing a heap of dust to surge into Blaire’s face.
“Who was that?” Travis asked, as he hopped up the porch steps.
“I don’t know. Where were you?”
“It’s been a long trip, and I had to go. You need help with your bags?”
“We’re not staying.”
“What? Why?” Travis’ jaw dropped.
Blaire pointed a stiff finger toward the front door. “That…that woman just told me that we are not expected until tomorrow; consequently, our room is not ready.”
“Tomorrow? Today is the seventh.”
“I know,” Blaire said, as she plopped down on her luggage.
“So, we can’t stay until tomorrow?”
“That is what I am told.”
“The last train is gone. What are we supposed to do...camp?” Travis asked.
“What an adventure this is turning out to be.” Blaire’s hand caressed the side of the suitcase.
“Well, you know what goes great with camping?” Travis shifted his stance.
“Marshmallows?”
“Booze.”
“That too.” Blaire agreed as she hopped up.
CHAPTER THREE
The crash of a bottle hitting a hard surface and shattering into hundreds of pieces was the sound that greeted them as they approached Berek’s Beer House. Artificial tangerine lighting served as a comforting contrast to the darkening street where shadows were beginning to play, hiding and seeking in and around the dismal alleyways and deserted buildings.
A few couples danced wildly on the makeshift dance floor created in the middle of the tavern when several tables were shifted to one side. Two open stools at the far end of the bar welcomed them. A couple of beers later and the world was not so bad looking to the United Care volunteers.
“Are there any hotels around here?” Travis asked the buxom, fair-haired bartender who leaned into him seductively before she answered with a smirk. “No. Sorry, no hotels in Borslav. We don’t get many tourists.”
“What time do you close?” Blaire asked.
“When there are no more customers,” she said in a bubbly tone that could make anything including directions to the bathroom sound overtly sexual.
“I’ll drink to that!” Travis held up his beer bottle to meet Blaire’s in a toast. “Shots,” he proposed abruptly.
Blaire erupted in a volcanic laughter that she had not heard from herself in years. Hung over and stinking of vodka was not the way she pictured herself showing up to her first day of volunteer work at the orphanage, but she also never pictured that she’d be sleeping in a bar the night before; inarguably, one justified the other.
Travis ordered two shots of vodka to celebrate the fact that they may not have to camp outside overnight after all. They may be forced to drink themselves into an acute coma, but even that sounded like a more inviting option than crashing on the streets of Borslav.
“Two vodka shooters!” the young blonde said, as she sat the two small glasses down in front of the foreigners.
“What’s your name anyway?” Travis asked.
“Vana,” the young woman said in a chocolate-covered voice that intrigued Travis. Blaire gave a furtive eye roll at the ease with which Vana oozed sex.
“Vana,” the name rolled off Travis’ lips as he dramatized it with smoldering eyes. Then he held up his shot glass and pronounced, “Cheers.”
Immediately after slamming the shots, Blaire and Travis stared at one another as their throats closed with a forceful clench, their eyes filled with tears, and their chests felt the slow onset of raging wildfires.
“Whoa!” Travis cried out as he held the drained glass up to look at it in disbelief.
Blaire broke into a hideous laughter as she chased the foul liquid with her beer. Instantly, the vodka took effect, and they sat for several dazed moments listening to the music that came from the jukebox.
Finally, Travis spoke, “Tell me about yourself, Blaire Baker!”
Blaire took a deep breath. “Nothing much to tell, I grew up in a quaint little town called Black Water. I went to college for teaching because I want to make the world a better place, blah, blah, blah,” Blaire slurred on euphorically.
“Tell me more about this curse.” Travis’ fingers played in the condensation on his beer bottle.
Blaire grinned and seemed pleased that Travis wanted to know more about her. “It’s an old wives tale mostly, but they say that bad things happen there, and if you are unfortunate enough to be born there, you can never escape it.”
“Hell, bad things happen everywhere.”
“Tell me about it,” Blaire responded. “What about you?”
“What do you want to know?” Travis laughed as if there were too much to tell, but began explaining anyway. “Just started nursing. I grew up in the country on the outskirts of a small city in Virginia with a picture-perfect little family: a hard-working father, a doting mother, and two older, strapping brothers.” Laurely crossed his mind briefly but was gone as soon as she came, like an obscure sound in the night. “I love my family, but I was dying to get out of that place; hunting and freezing through the winter months, which were most of the year was just never my idea of a good time. When I was old enough, I moved to Miami for school and never looked back.”
“You’re single? I wouldn
’t believe it if you said you were.” Blaire laughed at her joke.
“By choice, of course.” He snapped back playfully.
Blaire became more serious. “That’s the right attitude. So your parents are okay with you…?” Blaire began, but stopped abruptly when she noticed a formidable change in Travis.
“Oh, sorry, is that personal? That was a dumb question.”
“Nah, it isn’t. I told them recently. They seemed okay at first, but I don’t think they’re taking it too well, to be honest.”
Blaire nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t. She would never get the chance to tell her parents any life-changing news.
“But they’ll get over it.” Travis finally spoke.
“Yes, I’m sure they will.” Blaire added as she decided she would shut up for a while.
The beers went through them like water down a slide; smooth. They laughed, danced and somehow fell in with a rowdy local by the name of Petro. He was a burly man with bushels of reddish brown curls and a wavy mustache that filtered down into a thick goatee. Round the floor, Petro whirled Blaire like a feather-weight rag doll, while Travis and Petro’s wife, Soreena, scooted around them in an energetic dance.
“DRINK!” Petro yelled.
“DRINK!” Everyone in the room responded creating something like a drunken choral reading. Blaire’s eyes quickly found Travis’, and they both exploded in amusement. Petro, Blaire, and Travis headed to the bar, but Soreena waved them on and continued to dance, taking up with someone else.
“Three vodka shooters!” Petro instructed Vana, who poured up three more shots of the intensely potent liquid.
“This is it for me.” Blaire made the announcement as if she were in a state of mind to make such a firm commitment.
“Agreed,” Travis said.
Petro lifted his glass to long life, as Blaire and Travis raised their glasses to meet his before throwing back the alcohol.
“Hooooooooo,” Travis groaned as he sat his empty glass on the bar. Just as Blaire finished her shot, she felt someone standing close to her.
“Another?” the man asked. His eyes deep and dark like the sea that crested on the beach below St. Sebastian.
The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) Page 2
