Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Andrei waited and watched as the dawn light brightened to full morning. There was a single rental car parked by the house, and so far, he’d seen two different men step out at various points to smoke.
Without knowing how many of them there were, or if Sofie was even inside, he didn’t dare move any closer.
He had a horrible kind of déjà vu, to the point that he even eyed one of the trees and considered climbing it. But there was too much open ground between where he now crouched in the heavy vegetation along the property line and the one good tree.
Finally, what he'd been hoping for happened, and two men walked out together.
They were speaking Italian, but a parabolic mic app on his phone and live translation software took care of that.
“We have to leave in an hour, but she's barely started painting,” the shorter one said.
"I don't want to be stuck here in this fucking shit hole.” The taller man gestured around at the beautiful estate, which was far from a shit hole, but was in the middle of the Belgian countryside with not much to do.
“If one of us has to stay, we should get to fuck her.”
The taller man laughed and the cold sound carried to Andrei. “You know, all she needs are her hands and her eyes to paint.” He made a cutting motion with two fingers. “Her other parts? We could start removing them.”
“You heard the father, we can't risk infection if we cut off a toe or two. Elio already hit her too hard.”
Andrei closed his eyes. He’d once been a criminal, and his switch to the other side of the law had more to do with security and quality of life than deep moral convictions. It was why he never really cared that Sofie was a forger.
And looking at these men now, he decided that there was no greater good than protecting the woman he loved. And protecting her might mean every man here had to die.
Sofie’s hands shook with pain as she tried to sketch out the outline of the image her father had just described to her. He wanted it in the style of da Vinci, as that was the piece that had attracted the most attention.
There were no poplar boards in the supplies, but she was terrified to say that, in case that earned her another strike. She’d snapped at one of the men earlier when the pain became too much, and he’d shown her what too much really was when he pressed on her right knee and she momentarily blacked out.
Her left leg throbbed, but her right felt like it was on fire. They’d had to lift her off the floor onto the stool. Carry her to the bathroom, though she'd been able to stand on her left leg long enough to use the toilet without assistance. She’d had to bite a fold of her shirt to keep from screaming when she lowered herself onto the toilet, and by the time she was done, had been weeping with agony.
Now she was at an easel, sitting on a tall stool which allowed her to keep her leg mostly straight. Her father was sitting beside her, hands on the head of his cane. He watched her with rapt fascination as she sketched the image of St. Gerolamo Emiliani walking among those dying of the plague. He’d requested this specific subject.
St. Gerolamo was the patron saint of orphans and abandoned children.
If she hadn’t been so scared, and in so much pain, she would have laughed.
“You have always loved to paint,” he said wistfully. “Makes me sad to hear it is no longer your first love.”
“I fell in love,” she whispered, voice shaking, her mind hazy with pain and possibly shock.
“With…a person? A man?”
“Yes.”
“How did you meet him?”
It didn't matter if she told the truth. She would never walk again. Never see Andrei. Never leave this room. She had been the worst kind of fool and now would pay for that stupidity. Not just with her life but in suffering.
“He arrested me.”
“I saw that you were arrested. I was shocked, Sofie.”
“I wasn’t really arrested.” She hated herself for reacting to the disappointment she heard in his voice. “He saw through the window in my bedroom when your men came in and started hitting me. He tried to rescue me, but I…I panicked. Tried to run back inside because.” She glanced at her father, head swimming a little—she shouldn’t look around too much. That was dangerous. “Because I’m not safe unless I’m at home.”
Her voice broke as she obediently parroted the words.
“That’s right.” He patted her shoulder. “But you’re home now.”
A whimper crawled up her throat but she swallowed it.
“How was it not really an arrest?”
“He arrested me to put me in protective custody. Because I kept insisting on going home even though it wasn't safe.”
Her father made a displeased noise.
“He… I…” Sofie bowed her head, pencil falling from her fingers. She stared at where it lay on the floor. She wasn't sure if she could get it.
Her father bent down and picked it up, placing it on the tray of her easel.
“It is good to know love, though only the love our God has for us is eternal.”
Her father stood, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I must go, Daughter.”
As much as she wanted him gone, she was terrified for him to go. “You’re leaving me like this? I can’t walk, I can’t…” She was breathing too fast, but she couldn't seem to make herself slow down. "It hurts so much."
"I will send one of them back tonight with perhaps a wheelchair for you and something to help you with the pain. But remember, pain and suffering—they teach us. They help us reach a spiritual place."
He bent over and kissed her head, patting her shoulder once before turning to make his slow way to the door.
Sofie let the pencil fall from nerveless fingers and watched it roll across the floor.
“Who moved the car into the barn?” Taller Asshole asked as they strode across what had once been a farmyard toward the small outbuilding. The morning sun was cheerful, the sky a brilliant blue. Not exactly murdering weather, but Andrei made do.
“That idiot Elio must have. Where is he?”
Dead in the car.
Andrei followed them at a safe distance, having confirmed with Elio before snapping his neck that there were three men and Father Noah Visser here.
And that they had the father’s pretty blonde daughter locked in a studio on the third floor.
Andrei gave up on the translator app, tucking his phone back into his pocket as Shorter Asshole opened the door into a small shed, exhaust billowing out. It was a small space, and the running car was wedged in there—he’d broken off one of the mirrors getting it in.
Both men reeled back, coughing. Though he no longer knew what they were saying, Andrei could guess.
What the fuck is this? Why is the car on? What is he doing?
They’d never get answers.
Andrei shoved both men hard against the boot of the car, then slammed the shed door closed. He had to shove, given that their legs were now pinned between the door and the bumper. There were screams of pain as he dug in his heels and refused to let the door move even an inch. Grabbing the shovel handle he’d found for explicitly this purpose, he wedged the door closed using a crack in the cobblestone farmyard.
Once he was sure it was secure, he stepped back, watching the heavy wood door—they just didn’t make things this way anymore—shudder with their futile attempts to escape.
Andrei made a quick circuit of the shed. He'd already used spare rags to close up cracks in the old stone to make sure all the exhaust fumes were trapped inside.
He kept watch as the men thrashed and shouted. Soon the shouts turned to coughs. He wouldn't wait here until they died—he was burning with the need to find Sofie, and all that coughing would have weakened them enough that at this point, he had full faith in the shovel handle keeping them inside.
Andrei turned, shocked to see another figure standing halfway between the house and the shed.
Sofie’s father.
He wore the collar and cassock of his office, both hands braced on the round head of a heavy cane.
They regarded one another for long moments.
“You’re the man she loves,” Father Noah Visser said after a moment.
That surprised him more than the other man's presence.
Noah smiled. “You look surprised. She didn't tell you.”
“She never had the chance because you locked her up here the same way you locked her in that house in Amsterdam.”
“Here, yes, there are locks.”
“You made sure she never had a chance.”
“I made sure her life had meaning.”
“Yours won't. They'll never find your body.” Andrei smiled. "And if they do, I'll make sure evidence of every scandal you have and haven't participated in comes to light. They won't make you a martyr or a saint. They'll strike your name from the books and pretend you never were.”
That got a reaction, a flare of anger in the old man's eyes. “God will know?—”
“I hope he does. If there is a God, you’ll burn in hell for what you’ve done to her.”
“My soul is clean.”
“If that’s true, then so is mine.” Andrei stalked toward the other man, done with this conversation. He needed to find Sofie. He knew they’d hurt her, but didn’t know how badly, and it was killing him.
Andrei stopped in front of the old priest.
“I think death is too good for you.” He backhanded the old man—he wasn’t ageist so didn’t feel bad about it. Bending, he rummaged through the man’s pockets. The father moaned in what Andrei thought was Dutch and clutched his side. Broke a hip maybe.
Andrei took the man’s phone, wallet, and cane, then straightened.
“Goodbye, Father. If this is what sends me to hell, it’s a just price to protect Sofie.”
Leaving the old man on the ground, probably immobile and with no way to call for help, Andrei walked away.
She flinched at the sound of the key in the door. Sitting here with nothing to do had been worse than trying to sketch, so she managed to get herself up on her left leg and lean over just enough to reach the cup of pencils on the long counter under the window.
She was nauseous with pain by the time she sat down. Some small part of her wanted to simply give up. It would be so easy. Those windows may be new, but they weren't bulletproof. She could shatter them and then… A fall from this high would hopefully kill her.
Those thoughts had occupied her in the time immediately after her father had left.
But now… Without them looming behind her, and now that she was holding perfectly still and not exacerbating her injury, a ribbon of hope was coiling behind her heart.
Andrei.
Andrei would come. Maybe not right away. But he would wonder what had happened to her. He would go looking.
Colette. Colette wouldn't need forgeries anymore, but they were friends, weren't they?
Colette would realize she was missing before Andrei tried to look for her. A week or two maybe. Hopefully Colette called Andrei to tell him she was gone, and he’d tell her about the file of information. They would come to look for her. All she had to do was survive.
Yet as the lock clicked, terror swamped her, blotting out that fragile curl of hope. And with the rise of terror, the calm, rational thoughts that had been saving her sanity were sucked down beneath the surface.
Sofie gripped the edge of the canvas, bracing her right hand and touching the canvas with the pencil lead, though she couldn't draw even a line. Instead, what appeared was a squiggly dot created not with intention but because of how badly she was shaking.
“Sofie.”
The sound of his voice was a cruel trick. She closed her eyes. Andrei wasn't here. Not yet. She had to suffer more before she could be rescued.
“Sofie, Angel…” He inhaled. “Sofie, what the fuck did they do to your leg?”
Footsteps thudded across the floor, but she refused to look. This was some cruel yet wonderful hallucination.
“Angel.” His voice broke. “Angel, can you look at me? I'm going to take you out of here. I’m… Fuck, I should have come in earlier.”
Now his voice was starting to shake as badly as her hand.
“I can't leave,” she breathed. “This is home and I have to stay at home.”
“This is not your home.”
“I'm safe if I stay home. I left. I went to other places and now I-I-I…” She stuttered to a stop.
“Home,” he said. “Okay. Home. You don't have to leave home.”
At that, she opened her eyes. Andrei, her beautiful Andrei was here.
“Andrei.”
“Yes, Angel, yes.”
“If I leave home…”
“You're not leaving home,” he assured her. His gaze was fervent or earnest. His soul laid bare. “Because I'm your home. Or I will be if you let me. If you want.”
She cupped his cheek with her left hand, still thinking maybe it was a hallucination until she felt the warmth of his skin and the scratchy stubble along his chin.
“I love you. I didn't think I would ever love someone. Not in the way…” He smiled softly. “Not the kind of love that you could paint. But I love you. And if what you need to feel safe is to be at home, let me be your home.”
“You're really here.”
“I really am.”
“I love you, too.”
“I know.” Now his grin was cruel. "Your father told me.”
“He's still here?” She whipped around to look which jolted her leg. Sofie screamed, gripping her right thigh.
Andrei was there, staring at her leg, his hands raised but not touching her. “What did they do to you?”
“My father has a cane.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“He hit me. My left leg and I think something tore, but I can stand on it. But one of the others used the cane on my right leg and I…I heard it break. The bone. My knee.”
Andrei visibly swallowed as if trying not to vomit. “I should have killed them slower.”
That unexpected statement cut through some of the shivery fear that gripped her. “Killed them?”
“The three younger ones are dead. Your father is lying in the yard incapacitated with no phone or way of calling for help. And we’re leaving him there.”
“I think murder is a crime,” she said, bemused.
“It is.” Andrei was up and moving through the studio, looking for something.
“You can't say anything to me about forgeries anymore, if you're doing murder.”
“A fair trade.” He raced back over to her, holding two long canvas stretcher bars and a roll of packing tape.
Andrei knelt and looked up at her. “I have to carry you out of here. If I'd known, I would have murdered them off site so we could call an ambulance, but it's too risky, so I'm going to carry you out.”
Anticipation of pain made her stomach roll, but she nodded.
“I’m going to splint your leg the best I can first. He reached up with one hand and cupped her cheek. “Stay with me, Angel.”
“Always. Why would I leave?” She touched him with tentative seeking fingers, asking silently for him to rise. Somehow he understood and moved so that she could press her lips to his. It was only then that she began to truly believe she was safe.
“Why would I leave?” she said again. “You're my home.”