The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2)

by Jean Nicole Rivers

  “Uh, no. I couldn’t.” Blaire told the stranger.

  “Latif,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Latif…I’m Braaairrre, Blaairre Baker.” She immediately became embarrassed at hearing herself slur her own name. “Blaire Baker” came the words again as she made a concentrated effort to speak clearly this time.

  “Nice to meet you, Blaire Baker,” Latif said as he turned his shot glass up, threw his money on the table, and disappeared back into the crowd.

  “So, you two are American, no?” Petro’s voice boomed.

  “Yes,” Travis answered for the both of them.

  “I always wanted to go there.”

  “You should go, Petro. You would probably love America,” Blaire said.

  “One day,” Petro responded, smiling at the newcomers. “Who do you know here in Borslav?”

  “No one,” Travis explained.

  “We are volunteers with a program called United Care. We’re donating a year of our time to help the staff at St. Sebastian,” Blaire said.

  “St. Sebastian?” Petro’s brow furrowed and an inquisitive look spread across his face. “Why?”

  Blaire and Travis caught one another’s glances.

  “Just to help,” Blaire explained.

  “The Americans...always just wanting to help,” Petro said with a grin.

  “Is something wrong with that?”

  Petro’s voice lowered to express his deep concern. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. That place is a black hole, something you don’t know about, and won’t ever understand or want to for that matter. That place it…it’s…” Petro moved closer to Travis and Blaire as his voice fell lower, conveying the intimacy of his message which was unexpectedly disrupted.

  “Drink!” Soreena shouted gleefully, as she threw her arms around her tree trunk of a husband. Like a switch, he flipped and exploded in jovial howling. He spun his wife around in a circle, before purchasing another round of drinks, resolving to dissolve the matter of St. Sebastian into the four shot glasses that were soon in front of them.

  As the crowd thinned and the tunes on the machine became separated by more extended bouts of dead air, Blaire’s head felt as if it weighed hundreds of pounds as she struggled to lift it from the cool, hard surface of the table. Travis, Petro, and Soreena’s voices sounded far away even though she saw that they were sitting right next to her.

  “How did we get to a table?” Blaire asked, trying her best to clear away the brain fog.

  “You okay?” Travis asked.

  Blaire enjoyed the occasional drink, but this night she was in rare form. Only once could Blaire recall being this drunk and, as horrible as she was feeling at that moment, she remembered that it was the next morning that had been the true debacle, causing her to dread waking up tomorrow. Travis looked almost as bad as she, but Petro and Soreena were flawlessly composed.

  “Time to go!” Petro laughed heartily, while his wife screeched a giggle as if her husband had told a hilarious joke. Petro stood up from his chair causing it to clatter onto its side. In one fluid move, he threw his wife over his shoulder, and Soreena roared. It seemed to be one of their signature couple tricks, obviously performed numerous times for the entertainment of spectators as much as their own. Blaire’s hand shot up to her mouth to catch whatever might come out of it at the thought of being upside down.

  “You want a ride to St. Sebastian?” Petro asked, not bothering to alter his tone in order hide his adverse feelings.

  “Our room won’t be ready until tomorrow,” Blaire responded. Petro paused then put his wife on the ground.

  “We’re stuck here,” Travis chimed in.

  “Ah, okay, you stay with us!” Petro replied. Everything that he said erupted from him in a mini explosion.

  “What?” The American pair perked in unison.

  “You stay with us tonight, and we take you to St. Sebastian in the morning,” Soreena said with a sly smirk that was both welcoming and unnerving. Blaire could not tell if her hosts were gracious, psychotic, or just drunk, and she cared little at such a time when the vodka and beer worked doggedly to shut her down.

  “Oh, we couldn’t,” Blaire replied, her refusal superficial at best, and one she hardly planned to stand on if the couple insisted.

  “Yes!” Petro’s wife screeched into the conversation. “We have extra room, so you stay with us, and we take you tomorrow!”

  “Well…” Travis said, vacillating as he looked to Blaire, and she could see that he had little objection to the proposed accommodations when considering the alternative.

  It was a modest home, no more than a five-minute drive from the pub. It was devoid of any luxuries, but it was clean, warm, and better than sleeping at a bar. Blaire took her time moving through the living area that reeked of stale beer and quiet desperation. This place had to be something inherited, a home with all of its old spirits passed down through Soreena’s family from generation to generation. Above the fireplace, Blaire noticed family photos that dated back further than any of them had been alive, peculiar ancestors watching the place with prudent expressions drawn tight at the sight of the strangers.

  Soreena offered water to her guests before dispatching them to the extra room that sat just off the living room. Blaire and her partner climbed into the bed, snuggling deeply into the scratchy comforter, both undisturbed by this mutual act to survive the night and both fell into a deep unconsciousness within minutes.

  “Holy mother!” Blaire spoke in a prickly whisper that was dry and matched the texture of the comforter, as she grabbed her forehead. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted her glass of water on the nightstand, which she gulped down in three deep swallows. Blaire caught a whiff of herself and frowned; she smelled as if she had just finished the graveyard shift in a gin mill.

  As she lifted herself further from the bed the unfamiliar room shifted to a tilt. She was dizzy and felt as if some grotesque load was creeping up into her throat toward her mouth. After a few moments she regained her balance and willed control over whatever was in her throat, forcing it back down. Light that was neither warm nor comforting crept into the bedroom through the blinds. Blaire grabbed her purse and found a small bottle of pills inside, wrestling with the top on the painkillers before tossing three into her mouth. For a moment they became lost in the invisible cotton that filled her jaws, and then she felt their gritty texture at the back of her throat refusing to go any further down. She gathered up a bucket of saliva and pushed them back hard, and they disappeared.

  Blaire looked around and realized Travis was gone. She reached over, sweeping her hand across the cool sheets on his side of the bed. She felt hollow and dehydrated as she pressed the covers back, placing her feet on the frigid floor like a vampire emerging from her coffin for the first time in many years.

  Lumbering toward the door, she observed a splotch of blood at the end of Travis’ side of the bed, and she immediately focused on the hushed whispers floating into the room from the living area.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Specks of blood trailed toward the closed door. “Travis?” Blaire could barely make out her own inaudible whisper. She reached for the knob and pulled the door open swiftly.

  “Hey,” Travis said, quickly returning his attention to the leg he was nursing with bandages and some clear liquid.

  “Good morning,” Blaire responded, disoriented from her hangover.

  She was almost sickened by the perky composure of Petro and Soreena. Travis, on the other hand, appeared to have been run over by the same Mack truck that had mangled her, which gave her some comfort. Strong tea was brewing in the kitchen, and Blaire inhaled as much of the rousing aroma as her lungs would allow.

  “What happened to your leg?” Blaire sat down in the nearest chair.

  “I hit it on the edge of that bed.”

  “Again, I’m so sorry for that,” Soreena said.

  “Not your fault if I can’t watch where I’m going.” Travis worked on
finishing up his expert bandaging.

  “How did you sleep?” Petro asked.

  “Like a rock,” Blaire’s voice was still dry.

  After a quick breakfast, they lumped into Petro’s truck and headed to the edge of town. Soreena stayed behind, seeing them off with a wave from the porch.

  The morning light’s honesty revealed the true state of Borslav. Rundown roads caused them to bounce violently in the cab of Petro’s truck. Buildings seemed to crumble before Blaire’s eyes. A dilapidated sign told her that what was once the Bank of Borslav was now just a heap of slouching bricks separated by rotting window frames.

  It wasn’t long before St. Sebastian came into view, frowning like a bitter, old, country widow as Petro’s truck bumped up the driveway. Blaire noticed another tell-tale feature of the old place; slumped on the side of the porch steps was a broken pogo stick, a tribute to the decay of fun and freedom. A severe jerk of the truck brought it to a stop in a location undesirably far from the front door. Petro’s focus never wavered from the building, and it was clear that he had no intention of getting any closer.

  “Thanks Petro!” Travis yelled through the back truck window as he yanked the last piece of luggage from the rusting bed.

  “Good luck,” Petro offered as he floored the gas pedal, shooting out the driveway. Blaire and Travis stood motionless with all of their bags in the small storm of rock dust. There in the pit of Blaire’s stomach sat an unfamiliar sadness as she watched Petro’s truck disappear down the road, feeling as if she were watching the last train from Borslav pulling out yet again.

  “Not again!” Travis lowered himself to sit on his luggage as Blaire rang the bell a third time.

  “Don’t worry,” Blaire said, reassuring him. “I have a good feeling about today.” They both turned to the door after hearing the heavy lock flip.

  The door opened to the same maroon-lipped woman that Blaire encountered the day before.

  “Hello…again, I’m Blaire Baker and this is Travis Wells; we met yesterday. I think Marko is expecting us today.” She spoke merrily, despite the scrap of disdain she developed for the woman overnight. Killing people with kindness was so difficult for Blaire sometimes. It would have been much easier to use a samurai sword.

  “I am Vesna. Marko is not here, but he will be back soon. Come, I will show you to your room,” Vesna said with the cutting precision of someone doling out the rules for deadly gladiator games, within which, one mistake could be fatal. After hoisting up two of their heavy bags, Vesna turned and proceeded down the hall. Blaire’s eyes were drawn to the stained, forest green carpet, freckled with dots of black carpet and fringed at the edge of every doorway that bordered the hall.

  Blaire watched the back of Vesna’s head as the petite woman marched down the hall with military exactitude. Her brown hair was combed and swept into a football helmet of a style that she had obviously worn with pride for many years. The helmet was doused in holding spray that fortified it at the roots and did not allow even a strand of abused hair to fall out of line. Vesna seemed like the type of woman who kept her family much like she kept her hair.

  Blaire turned to Travis who raised his eyebrows in a mischievous expression as he picked up the remaining bags and followed obediently. St. Sebastian was clean, though it would not have passed U.S. inspection of the same type of facility. Paint peeled, and there were places where the walls appeared to have taken a punch or two.

  On both sides of them, the stained walls were lined with framed black and white photographs that portrayed a St. Sebastian that Blaire hardly recognized. In one photo a young lady in a pressed white uniform dress stood under an enormous tree holding a plump baby girl donned in a small white gown and ruffled socks. Tight dark curls framed the woman’s face, and her large round eyes stared out of the picture. Another showed manicured ladies in a wide-open, spotless room carefully tending to children who were tucked tightly into neat twin beds. It was impossible for Blaire to resolve the place she found herself in now with the place in the photographs; that place was non-existent, a bizarre alternate. Blaire stopped to study a particular photo, in which caliginous clouds swirled over the heads of the people, who smiled brightly, oblivious to their ominous environment. A handsome, middle-aged man stood at the edge of the gathering with his black hair slicked back, and, from beneath his finely groomed mustache, a crooked smile peeked through. He was the only male caregiver that she saw in any of the photographs. His hand was resting lightly on the shoulder of a seemingly unhappy and distracted little boy with clumsy silver braces on each of his legs. The last photograph on that wall showed a group of children, wild with glee, as they bounced around in a circle while holding hands, appearing to be in the “all fall down” stage of Ring Around the Rosie. Blaire smiled before turning to hurry after Vesna, but gulped when she all but collided into the acrimonious old woman who was standing right next to her. Vesna’s eyes burned with aggravation.

  “Sorry,” Blaire said as she felt her head begin to throb once again.

  The petite fireball of a woman turned swiftly and started up the stairs.

  Down the hallway, Blaire noticed an elevator, “Does the elevator work?”

  “I wouldn’t try it unless you’re the adventurous type. It gets stuck more often than not.” Their guide continued talking and moving up the stairs without looking back. “Marko will get someone to fix it when he is ready.”

  There are no children here, Blaire thought.

  “Where are the children?” Travis asked as if reading her mind. Vesna stopped and faced her followers. “The children are having breakfast,” she snapped. “Any other questions?”

  The visitors exchanged awkward glances.

  “Guess not.”

  “Good.” Vesna was eager to be done with the pair.

  “Can I speak to your customer service manager?” Travis mumbled under his breath, and Blaire shushed him with a smile.

  As Vesna trekked up the second flight of stairs without pause, Blaire peeked into one of the bedrooms off the second floor and spotted a little girl playing. The child’s hair was tied up into a ponytail with a thick yellow ribbon made of cotton which matched her shirt of the same color, it sat wrinkled under her crimson-colored overalls. Slowly, she rocked, back and forth while singing a rhythmic lullaby in a low tone. She turned to Blaire as if sensing her presence, revealing bright but empty aqua blue eyes. Blaire mouthed a silent hello and gave a short wave, but the girl only stared for a moment before she turned back to rock the naked body of her headless doll.

  On the third floor, Blaire looked for photographs on the walls of the hall but there were none, only a light spot on the wall where something rectangular once hung. Vesna led them to the last door on the right at the end of the hall, where she used her orthopedic-shoed foot to guide the door open, exposing a lightlessness between four walls. Blaire’s bags thudded to the floor.

  “This room is for both of us?” Travis asked. Vesna turned to him and stared before softening her glare and giving a slow nod.

  “Thank you,” Blaire said.

  “I will let Marko know that you are here when he returns from town.” Vesna began her march back down the hall. “You may want to shower before then.”

  “That was totally directed toward you.” Travis waited for Blaire’s reaction to his wisecrack.

  “Yeah, right. This from a man who had at least six shots last night.” Blaire said barely feeling humorous.

  “So this is the penthouse suite?” Travis had not given up trying to highlight the comedy of their situation. They looked over the dusty room, furnished sparsely with two twin-size beds on rickety metal frames and with two basic dressers and mirrors. One bed sat against the far wall to the left of the entrance, and the other on the wall opposite the door, under an enormous window covered with closed blinds.

  “Didn’t we just pass an empty room next door?” Travis made his way to the bed against the left wall, where he immediately plopped down and began tossing and turning
to find a comfortable position.

  “I think so,” Blaire said, as she climbed upon her bed and peeked through the heavy blinds, which introduced a breathtaking view of the sea. She pulled the cord inviting the cold, blinding light to flush the room.

  Travis looked around, viewing everything a bit more clearly now. “And yesterday they said that they needed time to fix the room up? I would have loved to see what it looked like before.”

  “One can only imagine,” Blaire said.

  “Not that I mind sharing a room. I don’t think I would want to sleep in this place alone.”

  “Me either.”

  Travis came over and took a look out the window. “I can’t wait to get in that water. The penthouse suite may not be so bad after all. Wanna go for a swim?”

  “No thanks,” Blaire responded as they both began to unpack. Travis put away the last of his clothes and pulled out a towel. “I’m gonna find a shower.”

  Blaire gazed out the window once more before she let the blinds down. She lay across the bed and was asleep in no time.

  Blaire’s eyes popped open, and her heart pounded furiously like the train beating the track on its journey to Borslav. She was not at home anymore. Blaire could hear a slight wheezing in her breath; she squinted her eyes as shadowy figures came into view and moved closer to her.

  Blaire closed her eyes and reopened them rapidly, trying to shift the dark figures into better focus, but they did not move. They remained frozen. The objects became clearer as the seconds passed, and she was able to make out a dresser and mirror and a small bed across the room.

  St. Sebastian, she reminded herself with a sigh. She looked around for Travis, but he was still gone. Looking at her watch she realized that she had been sleeping for several hours and as a result her hangover was beginning to pass.

  Something rustled inside of the closet. All of her senses honed in on the tall white door for several seconds until all was quiet again. Blaire began to lie back down, but was startled when a whisper reached out from the closet and grabbed her. In seconds she was on her feet, tiptoeing across the cool floor. With the door of the closet only feet from her now, she gasped when she heard a loud knock come from the other side of it. Her shaking hand reached out for the crystal knob and yanked it open.