I turn out, begin to walk.
Hands grab me from behind and pull me back. I’m shoved face-first into the rough, cool side of a building.
My cheek grazes the brick. My heart pounds.
A whisper. “You used to like it like this.”
Viktor.
“I’d shove you up to a wall just like this. I’d take you from behind. Use you hard like a stranger.”
He presses harder. I feel strange inside.
“I’d make you turn your head and open your eyes so I could see what I did to you. I would fuck the alertness right out of your eyes so all your world was only my cock. You loved when I drugged you with the harsh pole of my cock.”
Roughly he turns me to face him.
My pulse races. “Leave me. Let me be with my people.”
“I am your people.”
“I’ll keep trying until I get away.”
The vein in his neck is there. “To your pathetic church? Your god up in the sky? Your imaginary family like Mickey Mouse?”
“God does not need your approval.”
“And will he protect you from the danger all around? Bloody Lazarus and his men?”
“He will, yes.”
“He isn’t even there! And if he was, he wouldn’t care about killers like us. When you remember, you’ll see.”
Ten minutes later we’re back in the apartment.
Once again I’m upstairs in the large bedroom. I’m on a thick bearskin rug in front of the roaring fire, in fact.
That sounds nice, I suppose. It would be nice if my ankle weren’t shackled to a chain that goes to a fat metal heating pipe that runs up and down the wall. Just enough room to go and lie in front of the fire, or to use the small, windowless bathroom.
Viktor gives it a tug and steps back. The part that connects to my ankle is an iron cuff with a padlock. The fire crackles.
“How is this different from the brothel?” I ask. “Kept for a man’s whim?”
“Utterly different.” He lifts a corner of the rug and peers underneath, then he stands and swishes through the coin dish on the dresser. He’s looking for things I can use to pick the lock—hard, bendable things. As if I can remember how to pick a lock. Then again, I know exactly what he’s looking for, so perhaps I do know.
I certainly knew how to traverse rooftops.
He says, “You’re lucky I grabbed you first. Because you know who else is out there looking for you? Bloody Lazarus. Remember? The man who owns Valhalla? His men are on the hunt for you. What do you think he’ll do when he finds you? Your experience with him will be very different from your experience with me. He’ll probably bring you back to that Charles who was so into you.”
Shivers roll over my skin. “I was grateful it was me and not one of the other girls.”
Viktor unscrews the door stopper and tosses it out of the range of my chain. “You’re lucky they didn’t find you before we did.” He yanks up a piece of molding, and I get the feeling it’s just to get the nail out of my range. He thinks I could use a nail?
“Nothing will stop me from going back where I belong, Viktor. Not you, not Lazarus.”
“You think Lazarus can’t stop you? Even Tanechka at the height of her powers wasn’t magical.” His look is dark. It scares me a little. “We always knew he was bloodthirsty. We never knew he was smart.”
I lie back. “Still. I will leave again.”
“The old Tanechka wouldn’t run through the streets to a predictable destination. So predictable. Running to a church.” He practically spits out the word.
“Maybe Tanechka should’ve run to a church.”
“Tanechka was perfect. She didn’t need a church.”
He kneels at my feet and tucks a sock around the inside of my leg iron, on the outside of my jeans. Cushioning the metal. Roughness and softness. Harshness and care.
A familiar thrill of excitement rushes over me. He looks up, catches it in my gaze. “I like this. You chained up for me.”
“You need to let me go,” I say. “I need to confess what I’ve done.”
He sniffs.
“I killed a person.”
“Perhaps. Or is it all lies? It’s too bad you can’t remember. Tanechka would.”
“Viktor, please.”
“Please what?”
What? I don’t know. “I can’t be what you want.”
“Then you’ll die of old age in this room.”
“You killed, too,” I say. “Don’t you want to find some peace?”
This seems to stop him. I see heat in his face. Rage. Or maybe shame. “It’s too late for me.”
“How do you live with it?”
He seems to consider this. “It hurts sometimes. But you go forward.” He kneels in front of me. “We’ve always been fighters, Tanechka. We’ve always been dark and wrong. When you don’t expect sunshine and happiness, nothing can truly hurt you.” He tucks in another sock, cushioning my ankle all around. “Hell is only disappointing to those who were expecting heaven.”
I look over at the icon of Jesus. Too far to reach.