The Executioner: Part One

by Ana Calin

  Now that I was out of danger and required no more of their attention, one by one the voices cleared the room and left me to my best friend’s care. It was then that I tried to speak.

  “Damian … CPR?”

  Leona threw me a glance, her hands rubbing mine.

  “Med school, remember?”

  “Playing hero,” I whispered.

  Her head turned in the opposite direction – maybe the door. My socks got hitched off, and something hot pressed to the naked soles of my feet. The feeling was beyond unpleasant, like needles stinging my flesh.

  “Leona, wha – ?” I managed to lift my head. Damian held a bottle of warm water at my feet, his hand covering both of them. He didn’t wear his coat, only the gray pullover that complimented his athletic body and those dark jeans that hinted at his strong legs. While I look a mess. I scrunched my eyes shut as he began kneading my toes. I’m not seeing this! I’m not seeing this!

  “A train off track and frozen mountains are no playground,” he scolded in that deep voice of his. I wanted to crawl back into my snow grave.

  “Will you take over from here?” Leona addressed him – agile on the first opportunity to give us some time alone, I figured. “I’m afraid George will drown in all that vodka he saved, if I leave him for too long.”

  I kept my eyes shut as they probably exchanged nods or rather headshakes. I didn’t want to see Damian’s face as he refused. It was only when I heard the door creak shut that I opened one eye, as if peeking at an incoming blow.

  Damian flipped the blanket aside and sat on the bed, diving into the mattress.

  “May I lay with you? You’ll warm up faster,” he said softly.

  Lay with me? Speechless, I nodded.

  He stretched along my side, lifting my head with a huge hand and slipping an arm under the nape of my neck. Our gazes locked, and my mind focused on the rare color of his eyes. It was special, weirdly so. Every morning I saw a dull, washed-out nuance of my own blue eyes in the mirror, I saw brown, green and every combination thereof often around, but I’d never seen that crystal green, creating an irresistible contrast to . . . I couldn’t quite identify what. I imagined his eyes flashing with some kind of madness, like a demon’s. Maybe they did so when he was angry. And I could make him angry right now. I could jolt up and press my lips on his, taking him by surprise.

  But I made it only as far as resting my head on his arm that felt like concrete under his pullover, and putting a hand on his chest – broad and a bit too bulky. My neck soon hurt. He had the physique of a bodybuilder, but I doubted as a med student who worked for a living that he had the time to hit the gym, so perhaps he boxed or played hardcore sports. I shook away the thought. It didn’t matter, all that really mattered was that he was here next to me and he smelled of wood and warmth and Christmas fairy tales coming true.

  “Where are we?” My sternum hurt with every word.

  “A cottage in restoration. The train fell off track too far from Predeal, and this is the first lodging we found. There’s no phone signal this deep in the mountains to call for help, so we’re making do.”

  “No earthquake?”

  “That was my first thought, but I was wrong. Earthquakes aren’t common in these parts of the Carpathians. They tried to pull the train forward through the snow and it slipped off.” There was a pensive touch in his words. It suited that deep, velvety voice of his.

  I looked down at the shape of our legs under the blanket, thinking of what to say next to keep the conversation going. Damian began stroking the side of my torso over the coat, his hand close to my breast. It made the blood race through my veins.

  “So, did you only punch me or . . . did you give me mouth to mouth, too?” I couldn’t believe the pain in my ribcage.

  “Didn’t come to that, don’t worry. You spat out the snow and water during the chest compressions.”

  “Oh . . . Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Spitting.”

  He laughed.

  “Try to get some rest,” he said. “Talking might be difficult for some hours, maybe even days.”

  Now that was bad news. Leona would surely hunger for every detail of what happened in this room, and I wouldn’t be able to deliver, which counted as high treason regardless of excuse.

  Guitar tones filled the silence. They were just as out of tune as the hoarse male voice that accompanied them, but it made the silence bearable, and I thought it relaxed Damian, too. I closed my eyes and attempted to fall asleep, but his body so close to mine made it impossible. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, and I wondered relentlessly what he felt, what he thought. What he thought of me.

  He still stroked me, so maybe he’d give in to easy sex. In the end, he’d saved my life, and maybe he even expected such as a sign of gratitude. Maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move.

  Faking sporadic sighs from the world of dreams, I let my body snake on Damian’s. Since I was supposed to be asleep, I couldn’t be held accountable for it, but the feel of his muscles under the pullover made my breath intensify, which may have exposed me. His rhythm quickened a little too, but, as I risked a glance through my lashes, his jaw rippled. He looked angry.

  I stopped moving, but it seemed he’d already made a decision. Though he withdrew his arm carefully from under my head, as soon as that was done he jumped off the bed like a gazelle and closed the door behind him. I opened my eyes, tears of shame dripping on the pillow.

  With only the drunken version of “Dust in the Wind” to keep me company, more dark thoughts crept into my head. What if he was into Svetlana after all? Or maybe into another? He surely had options. And what if he only wanted to be friends with me? Greedy for the shaft in his pants I’d probably lost that now too. I have to make this right.

  I threw the blanket aside, groped for my socks and boots and followed the music down a narrow corridor. It led to what looked like the main chamber of an old rustic lodge with wooden furniture, carpets on the walls and a terracotta stove.

  With the power out, candles were the only sources of light, making the snow that clung to the windows glitter, the way it did in fairy tales. More drunken voices now joined the bearded singer’s, and people chained together with hands on each other’s shoulders swayed left and right.

  I spotted Damian across the room. He sat on a windowsill, his booted feet on the back of a wooden bench. With elbows on his knees, he scowled from under knitted eyebrows. I stopped in my tracks.

  My severely bruised ego screamed, “Hide!” and I hurried to mingle in, trying to find Leona. She danced in a lush embrace with George, who hurried to get rid of me by properly introducing me to Svetlana the “Beauty-Queen”. My lips sucked lemon as I saw Damian’s coat hanging on her bony shoulders – so I wasn’t the only lady whom he aided in distress.

  I gave in under the weight of George’s hand pushing down my shoulder, and dropped onto a chipped wooden stool right by Svetlana’s side. She returned to a conversation with her friends, and made a show of how she ignored me. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, she’d go ahead and ask one of the others about the parties at the dorms that she’d missed – probably ‘cause of her sugar daddy. Sometimes she’d introduce some cheap gossip with, “Oh yeah, did you hear that . . .”

  I tried talking to an older guy with wiry curls and a dirty coat, but he soon switched to the other side of the human circle. After about an hour everybody else sprang to their feet and cheered at the first tantalizing tunes of a bouncing round dance. Only Svetlana and I stayed put, eying each other awkwardly.

  “How come you don’t join?” I said to fill in the uncomfortable silence.

  “I hate this peasant dance,” she sneered, looking me up and down as if I were a worm. “Maybe you should give it a try. I bet you’d look good doing it.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to repress the urge to slap her. “I’m afraid I’m not as talented as you,” I grunted. “There isn’t a guy on campus who’s b
een to the Marquette and doesn’t know of your skill.”

  She puffed and looked away. There was a pang of guilt in my gut.

  “So, are you originally from Constanța or only studying there?” I said in a pacifying tone.

  “My dad’s from Croatia. I was born in Biograd, but I grew up here,” she replied with her nose turned up.

  “I’m a half-breed, too. My mom’s American.”

  “You’re American?” The older guy with wiry curls bounced in, his voice too loud. His drunken eyes sparked at me as if I’d suddenly turned into an exotic dancer – a remarkable shift.

  Heads turned, Hector’s fingers tangled in the guitar chords, and I immediately regretted having touched on the subject.

  “That would be an overstatement,” I muttered.

  “How can you overstate origin?” Svetlana sneered. She looked daggers at me, so it wasn’t hard to tell she hated my stealing the spotlight, especially for one of her own reasons to be special.

  “My dad studied in the States. Met my mom. She followed him back to Romania.” I glared at her and then at Mr. Nosy.

  “So your mom’s the American maiden and your dad the knight from Draculean lands?” He gave me a deep-lined, unshaven grin that failed to be charming.

  I nodded.

  “The States, huh? In those times?” Svetlana tried harder to splash me with mud. “How did he pass Ceaușescu’s dogs?”

  Shoot. But forging lies would’ve eventually put me in even worse light – it had before.

  “It was Ceaușescu’s dogs who sent him there,” I muttered.

  Complete silence. My eyes flew over to Damian. He watched with arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrow. For a moment there I hoped he’d jump to my rescue again, but he remained quiet.

  “Tiberius Preda? He is your father?” the older guy whispered.

  Crap.

  I nodded, and the guy’s mouth popped open. My dad’s name was notorious enough to mean heavy moneybags to everyone there.

  “So, you’re a rich bitch daddy’s girl, huh?” Svetlana sniped. Her laugh reminded me of the villain in a children’s film. This time my palm actually itched to slap her, but she was taller and stronger.

  “Listen, little miss hot to trot.” Leona placed herself before Svetlana, her tone cutting, all signs of fun and liquor-conditioned euphoria gone from her face. “Alice is not some social mutant you can dump on. She’s made more sacrifices in her life then you’ll ever know.”

  Svetlana glowered back at Leona, more pissed off by the intervention than taken aback. Seeing them face each other was quite something – they couldn’t be more different and yet more alike. Both what society would doubtlessly label Hollywood-worthy.

  I didn’t wait for the outcome of their confrontation. I dragged myself out the door with my face in my palms, fighting to keep back tears, and unable to fathom how I could’ve been so stupid to mention my roots so easily, especially to someone who so obviously resented me. The cool air on the porch dried my eyes. It numbed my feelings a bit, too.

  The lodge stood somewhere high and close to the woods, countless fir branches warped with snow marking the contours of endless hills, a full moon hanging low in the sky. It reminded me of the tale of Beauty and the Beast that Mom used to read to me before she put me to bed. I’d fall asleep in my pink pajamas, clutching Judy the Monkey to my chest and dreaming of a prince in a fairy tale of my own. My story had turned out to be a little different, though.

  I sank my hands in the snow on the porch and splashed it like water on my face, hoping the sting would cast both Damian’s rejection and Svetlana’s laughter to the back of my mind. It did for but a second.

  “So, daddy issues?” Damian’s voice made me jump to my feet.

  He’d popped out of nowhere, and now stood really close by my side. “A whole bunch of them.”

  “I’m sorry I startled you.”

  “Do I appear startled?” I hoped the line would cover my embarrassment, especially after what had happened in bed earlier.

  He looked down at me with eyes so striking that a shiver coursed down my spine. “More like a kid playing ostrich in the snow.”

  A kid. That’s what I am to you, too, then. I clenched my teeth and didn’t reply.

  “Leona said something about sacrifices,” he mused after a short pause. He sounded as interested as anyone ever got.

  “Leona spoke without thinking.”

  “And without your consent. Still, I think she acted out of admiration.”

  “And that puzzles you, I gather?”

  “It intrigues me.”

  “Of course it does.” I snorted, bitterness searing the tip of my tongue. “I didn’t discover insulin or appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated, so you don’t think I deserve admiration.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?” His eyes glinted like pale emerald. I turned away, gazing in the distance and faking cold indifference to his looks.

  “All right then, here it is,” I said. The mountainous landscape with its winter charm made for a confessional state of mind, and I’d already made a fool of myself, so it couldn’t get any worse than that. “My dad is a man of wealth and influence, but I guess his name already told you that. But a parent’s success can weigh heavy on the kid’s shoulders, you know? Everybody expects so much of you. I could live with it up to a certain point but then, one night, my ex got drunk and told his friends that he intended to marry me for my money. I heard about it, so I decided to have myself removed from my father’s will as well as from his list of heirs, to prove to everybody that Tony wasn’t a jackass. The only thing I kept was my last name, certain it would soon change anyway. But Tony left me after all.” I coughed out the last words and grimaced at the pain in my chest.

  “So you gave up your inheritance to clear his honor, and he betrayed you?”

  “You make it sound like I’m the hero.”

  “That’s clearly Leona’s point of view.”

  “Leona and I have known each other for some years now, since before I flashed my heroic qualities at the world.”

  “So she didn’t need reasons to like you.”

  “No. She didn’t.” I turned and stared at him, surprised at his finesse, and drawn ever deeper into his scrutinizing gaze. Just yesterday I would’ve done anything for such an opportunity to spend time alone with him, but I didn’t like talking about this—feeling so exposed. Not to mention, I must’ve looked a complete mess huddled in two dirty coats, with crazy hair, knotting my skeletal fingers like some kooky witch.

  “How about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What’s your story? I mean . . . truth be told, you’re quite popular, yet few people know anything about you.”

  He smiled that weird, animal smile of his. “Have you inquired and been left wanting?”

  “Oh, you have a way of putting things . . .”

  He took a step closer, his eyes steady on my face. “This Tony guy, you must’ve really loved him to sacrifice everything you did.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?” I muttered.

  “And if it were a question?” he continued softly, as if he wanted to seduce the answer out of me.

  “I’d withhold the answer.”

  “You don’t want to go there?” he whispered.

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “Does it feel like such?”

  “It feels shrinky.”

  “Oh, that’s by no means what I intended.”

  “Do you have a problem with shrinky?”

  “Are we changing parts, with you as the inquisitor?”

  “We are.” Boy, am I tough. I felt suddenly proud of myself. But something told me Damian Novac would by no means put up with my inversing poles, therefore I waited for him to crush my will. The prospect was thrilling, but the blow never came. He indulged me.

  “As long as it satisfies you.”

  Satisfies . . . “So? Is it contempt for doctors that I sensed in y
our words?”

  “I’m a step away from the Hippocratic Oath, Alice, so no, I hold no contempt for doctors. It just wasn’t my intention to analyze on you. You probably don’t need that.”

  “What do you think I need?”

  “I don’t presume to know. That’s why I’m asking questions.”

  My heart skipped a beat. The handsome barbarian who’d followed me to the porch turned out to be a shrewd scholar who messed with my head – an irresistible combination that shouldn’t exist.

  “Asking questions is a shrink’s job,” I whispered. His towering closeness heated up my blood so much that the cold winter’s night seemed to have lost its effect. I felt cornered by this wild beast. But the mood broke when the front door swung open, and Svetlana appeared in the frame, wrapped in a shabby quilt that did nothing to reduce her attractiveness.

  Her hair flowed platinum down the front of her shoulders, her catlike eyes glimmering under thick lashes. She extended her arm to offer Damian the clothing that was slung over it.

  “I thought I’d bring you your coat,” she addressed him without even throwing me a glance. “You’ll need it, if you plan on staying out here long.” There was a drop of scorn in her voice. Maybe she did have a claim on Damian after all. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat at the idea.

  “Thank you,” Damian said, retrieving the coat. “You shouldn’t have, though. I was just bringing the girl back in.”

  The girl.

  “You go ahead,” I said. Damian had already turned his tall, V-shaped back around and taken a few steps to the door. Anger and defiance fired up in the pit of my stomach. If he thought I was going to follow like some insignificant, nameless slave, he had another thing coming. “I’ll stay here a while, enjoy the quiet.”

  Damian made a half-spin and looked down at me, a glint of surprise in his eyes.

  “The wind’s taking up. There’s a blizzard coming,” he insisted.

  A defiant grin curled my mouth. “The door’s not that far away. I’ll make it through before anything sweeps me off my feet.”

  Damian seemed to get the hint. He frowned and shook his head, just slightly like at an errant child as he held the door for Svetlana and followed her in.