Shared battle blood.
The last time I was able to escape the drug’s control is when the severity of my situation truly shook me to the core. I was on a dirty dark blue cot with broken springs, the mattress paper thin. The only blanket I had was a very dark and dingy green wool. My pillow had stains, some very dark ones that had my imagination setting fire. Even in my groggy state, I slowly sat up to further myself from whatever had taken place where my head was resting.
If I thought my pillow was disturbing, it was nothing compared to the isolated room I was in. Four grimy block walls, only eight feet apart, with no windows, was my place to rest in between all that was to come. My only light came from a long fluorescent tube on the ceiling with a wire cage around it. In the corner was a bucket. As my bladder demanded release, I understood what it was for. Next to the bucket was sealed piping as if a toilet was once there. The dark concrete floor slanted to the middle where a drain was. I stared at the mesh-covered hole, wondering if that was where the putrid odor was coming from. Maybe I was being overwhelmed by the stifling emptiness in my confinement.
The quiet had me fumbling out of bed and daring to open the door. Not surprised to it being locked, I leaned my ear to the cold metal. A few male voices speaking Russian echoed as if down a hallway. To try and figure out where I was, I dropped to the floor. Down on my hands and knees, I peeked under the door. I could only see shadows of one set of shoes and one set of bare feet walking past my door. Then it looked as if they turned and had gone into a room next to mine.
My ears strained to hear something, but it was silent for a minute. Then a chain rattled. When I heard a whack, I jumped to my feet and backed away from the door, trying to distance myself from the immediate scream that followed. Climbing back onto my bed, I crawled to the wall and huddled, hoping no one would remember I was there. The screams announced being trapped in a tiny concrete room was my best outcome.
The whacks were eventually no longer followed by screams but by tired whimpers.
Then it went quiet for a few long moments. That was before the grunts began. There were two sets, one following the other. They both sounded deep as if they came from men. I slammed my hands over my ears after hearing a male cry out, “Please, no more.” I cried with him as the grunts only got louder in a forceful manner.
After a sickening moan that stretched on and on, the dungeon I was in was finally free of cries for help. The chain jingled again before feet and shoe shadows walked past my door.
Breathing so hard my exhales echoed off the walls, I saw my own breath. I hadn’t only been shaking in fear, but fear had me unaware I was freezing. With the smelly blanket provided, I wrapped myself in the little warmth I could find. The drugs, still having an effect on me, had me eventually lying on my side curled into a tight ball. I begged my eyes to stay open and warn me of intruders, but they drifted shut.
Yury entering my room was what woke me. All I could do was watch the lion approach knowing I had nowhere to run—to hide—and protect myself. “Good morning, Little Treasure.”
I sat up, holding the blanket around me, surprised I found the nerve to say, “P-Please, don’t call me that.” Only my brother called me that. My brother’s murderer knew this.
Yury carried in a metal folding chair and sat, the door shutting behind him. “Since you said please, I will grant your request. Any suggestions on what I should call you?”
Link once had told me sarcasm was my defense mechanism. He said any time I felt threatened, I would always revert to being a smartass. When I had been fighting for Crash’s life, Yury mentioned how much he loved my spicy attitude. I was hoping it could also help me in my awful present situation. “A cab?”
His deep-toned laughter boomed in the tiny room. “I’m afraid that cannot be, but we could come up with another name. So far, I’ve been enjoying Fire.”
Wrapping arms around myself, I shrugged. A nickname to remind myself I have some guts wasn’t the worst he could call me.
“You can call me Master.”
I stared at him, wondering how wise it was to explain that was never going to happen.
As if reading my mind, he squinted. “No?” Then he winked. “Don’t fear. You will see it my way eventually.” He clapped his hands together. “Until then, Fire, do you have any questions?”
I had to pretend to be lucid all the while fighting my inner turmoil and terror. “My chances of escaping?”
“Alive?”
“Yes, being alive would be a plus.”
“None.”
“My chances of you having a change of heart? Setting me free?”
“It is very possible I have no heart.”
My eyes welled. Jesus. I believe him. My voice cracked, “Yury, why am I here?”
He lifted a brow. “You know my name?”
I swallowed.
“How unfortunate.”
Those two words sounded as if knowing too much was deadly.
“Refrain from using that name. Only Master.”
I knew I was begging for my life and future. “You said you want to profit off me. There is no way you could make enough to make all this hassle worthwhile. So, tell me the truth. You got the paperwork you wanted, and you’ve killed two people dear to me. What else do you want?”
He stared at me as if pleased I called him out. “Wants and needs are not the same.”
“Then what do you need from me?”
“Someone made the ultimate sacrifice for you. I… need to know why?”
I could feel my face heat up past the cold in the room. “What are you talking about?”
He pulled a mini iPad from his jacket’s inside pocket, handed it to me, then tapped the screen. As he sat back down, a video began. Beaten blue eyes peered up to the one filming.
I burst into tears.
Crash.
My shaky fingers reached out to touch him but stopped when he started to talk. His voice captured me, instantly. “Have you ever listened to someone sleep?”
I could hear Yury answer Crash from behind the recording device. “What the fuck for?”
Crash was on a concrete floor, dirty, and in rough shape. His surroundings looked like a garage. “Think about it. Have you ever slowed your world down enough to take the time to appreciate someone’s very breath? I know I hadn’t.” The scar above his eyed crinkling, Crash winced as he leaned back against a bare wall and rested bruised arms on his now bent knees. “Not until a fiery little redhead entered my world—my life—my pitiful excuse of an existence that ran one miserable day into the next, aimlessly.”
In my heart’s pain, I groaned, wanting to touch the young man in the video. Seeing him was a blessing, yet cruel. I literally hurt seeing him, knowing he was… gone.
Crash said, “I’d become so complacent, so unaware, yet so absorbed in my actions, and my actions’ results that a numbness overtook me and my thoughts. Not even an action-packed movie could hold my attention so I left the theater in search of water. I say water, but I think I was truly searching for air. For relief from the dead feeling in my soul. The unseen weight crushing my chest, begging for the nightmare that was my life to end.”
Yury studied me as I cried as quietly as possible to not miss a syllable Crash was uttering.
Crash smiled. “A breath of fresh air is exactly what I got as I turned the corner, seeing Franky eye that popcorn machine with nothing but pure determination.”