by Ana Calin
“Well, I don’t need to see him, Mom. I just want to talk to Agent Varlam, to make sure Dad’s all right. I need to convince myself.”
“You’re hard to assure of anything, sweetheart. I’m telling you now: your father is safe. Now let it go.”
I heard the door between the antechamber and my room open. Then light steps. Leona’s steps.
Large empty eyes stared at me. Her face had lost much of its glow, and she hadn’t even brushed her hair. The experience we’d been through had taken away what was left of her carefree self.
Mom smiled at her and hurried to pour her a cup of coffee, eager to cover the subject of our conversation. Leona joined me at the table, huddled in my old pink bathrobe that came too short on her arms and legs.
“No milk, no sugar,” Mom said, placing the cup of coffee on the table.
Leona took a sip, careful not to burn her lips.
Lingering on her feet beside her, Mom tucked an ebony strand behind Leona’s ear, her gaze motherly. It brought back a flash of her teaching the small gypsy girl with the defiant scowl how to properly hold a pen.
Now, ten years later in the same kitchen where she’d learned to read and write, a finely educated Leona curled her olive-skinned fingers around a cup of hot coffee. She leaned her head back, savoring not only the aroma but also her surroundings.
There was love in her gaze as it crossed over every detail of the room – the cluttered wooden cupboards nailed to the walls over the counter, the door to the back garden with its frosted glass pane, the pots, kettles and spoons dangling from a wooden stripe with hooks above the sink like bells waiting to be played.
“I’ve missed this place,” she said, her hand gently stroking the nylon table cover.
Mom gave her a warm smile. “It’s missed you, too.”
Despite the promising start, the conversation got stuck as soon as Mom uttered a “Did you sleep well?” Leona lowered her head and pressed her lips, as if not wanting to remember. But, if she’d had nightmares, I hadn’t noticed. She’d been still and quiet. Only George’s low moans had occasionally reached me.
George woke up late in the afternoon. His sudden screams made us all jump, and Mom almost threw down the door to the antechamber to attend him. His pained groans sent chills down my back. Leona slapped her palms over her face, her shoulders shaking in sobs.
Carefully, I took her in my arms. I threw a glance at the big, lazy clock on top of the bookcase – four in the afternoon. George had at least gotten a good chunk of sleep. Unlike Leona and me, who hadn’t even found the energy of losing the pink bathrobes we still wore like overgrown babies, curled on the couch, TV on.
Without Mom to promptly switch channels as soon as the news came on, always packed with tragedies and subliminal, “This is the end of the world,” Leona and I were now fully exposed to them. A report about a massacre at a remote cabin in the mountains of Bulgaria made both our eyes bulge.
A story frighteningly similar to ours, only that no one had been found, dead or alive. The perfectly groomed reporter’s words were like “deja heards,” her voice matter-of-fact but disturbed in its depths. Censored images that played on the half of the screen next to her face accompanied her story.
“Blood on pieces of clothing and torn curtains. Broken windows and –” And this is where my ears began buzzing, muffling the sound of the TV. So this one made it on the news.
“They’ll cover up in a few days max,” Leona said, close enough to my ear to pierce through the buzz.
“How is that supposed to work? How could footage like this be a mistake? They freaking filmed the mess. People are not stupid, Leona.”
“No, they aren’t. But there have been so many tragedies with so many explanations lately, that illegal experimentation won’t cross their minds. They’ll accept any animal attack, serial killer, drugs and orgies that ended up badly, you name it.”
Then the reporter said, “The police arrested Dr. Lazar Dobrev, a psychiatrist. He used to treat one of the missing persons. Dr. Dobrev set the man on the loose, even though he was known to have murderous impulses, which he shouldn’t have had trouble acting on at a height of two meters, and a hundred and seventy kilograms of muscle.”
“See, what did I tell you? They found Mad Conan to blame it on. As for the old man, he’s a scapegoat,” Leona said as images of a sorry old doctor with Einstein hair, cuffed hands and fragile body in a tweed suit appeared on the screen, led to a police car by two men in black uniforms. According to the reporter, the car exploded only shortly later, the doctor and the policemen all dead. The connection to Dad fired in my head – first extraction, then death.
“Jesus, Leona, this is bad! This is real bad!”
She looked at me, startled by my reaction. In a few breaths and with no second thoughts I broke my oath and told her about the extraction, glancing at the door to make sure Mom didn’t catch me on it.
“Help me, Leona,” I pleaded. “I need to see him, make sure he’s not being held hostage and questioned like a heretic, then maybe even killed in some staged accident!”
“And who’s gonna tell you where Dr. Preda is? Apparently no one wants you to know.”
“We’ll go see Varlam at the station. I’ll find a way to get him talking.”
“You don’t have his number?”
I snorted. “I can’t talk to him about these things on the phone, can I?”
Leona studied me for a while. A deep-in-thought V formed between her eyebrows as she assessed my face, and the moment Mom walked back into the living room, she began talking without warning or turning her eyes from me.
“There’s no way I can spend days here without something proper to wear.”
She sounded so convincing, I fell for it myself. “You can have anything from my wardrobe,” I babbled.
“You’re petite, Alice, you don’t own anything I can actually take out on the street or to campus tomorrow.”
Her eyes danced on mine, maybe in expectation for me to kick the ball back at her. But, since I was too puzzled to produce a sound, she went on herself. “I need to buy a few things.”
I finally understood her game, but Mom intervened as if burnt with red iron before I could say anything.
“Absolutely not. You’re not going out now—it’s dark.”
Leona’s face froze for a moment but, as she turned to Mom, it had already regained its elasticity and added a rakish smile.
“What if we ask one of the boys outside to accompany us to Marvimex?”
“They’re here as watchmen and not escorts,” Mom admonished.
“Then please, have a word with them,” Leona said.
Mom gave me a suspicion-filled look, which I blocked with a shrug.
“I’d love to get out of the house for a bit,” I said. “It feels like prison, Mom.”
It was the begging tone that unbalanced Mom’s resolve, no doubt. After little more insistence from our part she allowed us to get ready while she went out, looking for Officer Sorescu and his colleagues.
I parted the curtains with two fingers and spied – much like old Mrs. Teodorescu from across the street did each time a car pulled up in front of one of the neighboring houses. Mom crossed the street, keeping the long winter coat wrapped closely around her body.
To my surprise, she entered the corner bar where loud drunkards burned away their time gambling cigarettes and bottles, sometimes their wives’ jewelry, sometimes their wives. With its barred windows and narrow entrance the place was perfectly designed to keep interest at bay. Yes, suited for undercover tailing operations, why not.
Leona and I went to the antechamber, then tip-toed by a slumbering George to my room, where we got dressed.
Leona tossed over to me a white wool sweater and a pair of tight jeans that reminded me too much of what Svetlana had been wearing in the mountains. The jeans were a couple of years old and had gone through repeated washing along with the other pairs, but I’d only worn them once on the day of acquisition.
Tony had once labeled this particular pair “slutty”.
A change of clothes was already folded for Leona on the rocking chair by the window. I watched her sinewy shape dance into it and recognized Mom’s elegant red turtleneck sweater and a pair of white pants.
“How do I look?” she said.
“When did Mom give you the threads?” If Mom had offered Leona access to her wardrobe, what was the point of shopping, especially at five in the evening?
“She didn’t. I helped myself after the shower today.” She winked. “Your clothes are all too small, and I figured Jenna wouldn’t mind. She never did before.”
“But she’ll see you’re wearing her stuff when we go out. Marvimex won’t stand, she’ll know we’re going somewhere else. Plus, even if we manage to persuade her we’re going shopping, we might not even make it to Varlam with one of those watchmen on our heels.” I sounded increasingly desperate as I realized the holes in our plot.
“Oh, we’re going to Marvimex, all right. I can only wear Jenna’s clothes as an exception. Once we’re there, I’ll talk the guy into accompanying us to see Hector. I’ll tell him you and I have confidential information, and that our seeing him needs cover.”
“He won’t buy it.” I shook my head. “It’s weak, it won’t work.”
“Wanna bet?” Leona retorted, a mischievous grin quirking up a corner of her mouth.
In less than half an hour we stood under the large sign creaking askew above the entrance to Marvimex, the rain rapping on our umbrellas. The crooked plate read “Shopping Center,” yet the place wasn’t far from a bazaar. Engulfed by grey blocks of flats with walls damped by rain that testified half century of communism, it looked like a stable with dozens of barracks in the middle of a concrete fortress. Small, round men and women wearing thick golden chains around their necks populated them, offering contraband like circus performers did their tricks. Still, many shoppers preferred the place to the Tomis Mall for its cheap and often unique wares.
Officer Sorescu sheltered Leona under a dark blue umbrella. I caught glimpses of her profile now and then as we slithered through strings of people. I read seduction in her smile, and knew the batting of her thick lashes was having the necessary effect. Sorescu would accompany us to the station for a confidential meeting with Agent Hector Varlam.
I lost sight of them as a large and boisterous family squeezed me between them, making me lose my umbrella in the process. When I emerged from their midst like from a tornado, I found myself in a completely different part of the bazaar. Persian rugs hung among lamps and chandeliers of different shapes, their glass icicles clinking whenever they trickled too low and touched my hair.
This part of the bazaar was good as empty of life except for a few passer-by shadows here and there. I spun among the hanging rugs, curtains and lamps that surrounded me the way circus gadgets would a child. Intertwined patterns engraved into the carpet fabric had a hypnotic effect. An effect that was all-surrounding.
“Miss Preda.”
I turned on my heels and gasped.
The largest man that must’ve ever existed stood before me, his head looming far above mine. He wore a black cloak that reminded me of a priest’s garment. Cold sweat trickled down my temples.
His eyes shone in a way that wasn’t natural. I realized on the spot he must’ve been a freak of nature, for which the Persian Empire was once so famous. Except that he was definitely here now, thousands of years off.
“Now this is unexpected,” his voice boomed.
The brightness of his eyes blinded me to the details of his features. It took only another second for me to realize he was under the influence of the gas. Connections fired in my mind – the psycho from the news, the one who’d supposedly killed all those people in the mountains of Bulgaria. He was a freaking giant.
“What are you?” I whispered.
“The Executioner’s shadow.”
A hand started toward me, looking like he wanted to introduce himself. But part of me feared that he would instead go for my throat. I stumbled backward placing distance between us.
His feet moved slowly, following me. My pulse increased and my rational mind shut down. I turned on my heels and ran, slapping heavy rugs out of my way, lamps shattering as they caught on my hair and fell.
My body moved without thought, and I bumped carelessly into things and people until at last I emerged back into a crowd. I was sure that man had drawn me to him, the boisterous family had set me up and drifted me along to that lonely corner of the bazaar.
Officer Sorescu would be completely useless against the giant freak, that much was clear. Which meant Leona was no safer than I was. Just as I identified Leona’s yellow umbrella in the crowd something hard wrapped around my waist. Someone lifted me from the ground as if I were a feather. I wanted to scream, but a large hand covered the lower half of my face. Panic struck. The giant had found me. He spun me round and crammed me between two booths.
Then I looked up into crystal-green eyes under dark eyebrows, and recognized the finely chiseled face of Damian Novac.
Chapter Nine
I stared at him with an open mouth. The beauty of his face struck me as if I were seeing him for the first time. He may have been big like the Giant and just as intimidating, but he made my heart race and my face burn.
“What were you thinking?” Damian hissed through his teeth.
I managed to find my voice. “I wasn’t thinking anything. What are you doing here, Damian? Or should I call you Executioner?”
“Either will do. But you haven’t answered my question. Why the hell are you here alone?”
I stuck my chin higher up and gave him the most capable of scowls. It didn’t seem to impress him, but I was proud of it anyway.
“If anyone is owed an explanation here, it’s me.” Before I knew it, my index finger poked until it hurt against his stony chest clad in just a white V-neck and a thin leather jacket. “I’m looking for a way to contact my dad, who was allegedly extracted by the R.I.S. after the little talk he had with you.”
Damian’s jaw tightened, his face taking on the hardness of honey-glazed granite. He caught my wrist in an iron grip.
“How much of our talk did you hear, girl?”
“Girl?”
“Eavesdropping is dangerous, Alice.”
“Oh good, you remember my name. I heard quite a bit, but there’s not much you can do about it now, is there? But rest assured – the more I find out, the more questions I have. Too few answers.”
He threw a scowl in the direction where I’d come from. “And who exactly have you been speaking to up until now?”
“Why should I tell you? Let’s get one thing straight, Damian, Executioner, or whatever they call you: I. Don’t. Trust. You.”
Damian raised his chin, looking imposing. His hair spilled in raven waves to his shoulders, his mouth sculpted and his eyes sharp crystal. A beautiful devil. I swallowed and sank my head, praying he hadn’t seen the way my eyes had widened at him and exposed me for a treacherous second.
“Good,” he said.
My head snapped up. “Good? That’s all you have to say? Damian, you have a world of explaining to do.”
His fingers wound around my arm, sinking into my flesh.
“You want explanations? I’ll give you some,” he said, and pulled me after him.
I clasped his forearm with my free hand and felt something edgy strapped to it. Something metallic. Though I couldn’t be sure, the first thing that jumped to mind were the blades that assassins carried under their sleeves.
Damian patted Sorescu’s shoulder.
As soon as the plump man turned around, his jaw dropped. Damian was most definitely a striking sight, and I couldn’t blame him. Leona’s eyes darted from mine to Damian’s in surprise, but she didn’t make a sound.
“Not a good evening for outdoor shopping, is it?” Damian said with a grin.
After a quick set of blinking, Sorescu came to himself. “Do I know you,
Mr. . . .”
The metal under his sleeve jumped to mind again. I shuddered and swallowed the knot in my throat.
“Novac,” Damian replied.
“I see,” Sorescu said, sinking his hands in his pockets and pushing his chest forward. “Well, Mr. Novac, how may I help you?”
“I’m one of the survivors from the mountain incident, your colleagues have me under surveillance. Which is how I know who you are, Officer, and why I was disturbed to find Alice wandering aimlessly around Marvimex. It’s dark, and dangerous people lurk around.”
Sorescu cleared his throat but remained silent.
“I must express my concerns with regards to your competence,” Damian said with a headshake, like a reprimanding teacher.
He let go of my arm, his hand moving to the small of my back and covering it almost entirely. An electric sensation coursed through my body as the memory of our first night at the cottage lit in my head.
Leona broke the silence between the two men, who glared at each other like fighters in a ring. “Forgive me, Damian, but I . . .”
“I’m sure you must’ve noticed Alice was missing, didn’t you, Leona? As her best friend and aware of the danger she was in, I mean,” Damian interrupted her without taking his eyes off Sorescu. “Why didn’t you look for her or draw the Officer’s attention?”
Leona shifted from one leg to the other.
“I’m sure Miss Preda hasn’t been away for that long, maybe a few minutes,” Sorescu retorted, his tone conciliatory all of a sudden. “And Miss Ignat already has what she came here for, so we’ll be heading back now anyway.”
As Sorescu reached out, inviting me to cross to his and Leona’s side, Damian held tight to my waist. I felt his muscled thigh against my hip, and my cheeks prickled.
“Minutes can be lethal, Officer. The fact that you take this so lightly is reason enough for me escort Alice home myself.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She came here with us, and she’s going back with us.”
“I think not.”
Sorescu laughed quietly, hands up as if surrendering in front of a gun. “Tell you what, mate – why don’t we drive back together? That way you’ll be sure she made it home safely.”
