24. Willow
24
WILLOW
I 'm the cup-of-tea maker. I pretend I don't know my new, completely useless function is designed to, first, give me a break after Ava's emotional interrogation, and secondly, to give me some perspective; make me realize how much worse my life could have been.
Which I do.
I couldn't take it in the hall with all those broken people at once, but now I really look, and hear their story, and watch as they break down, and put themselves back together.
Ava is amazing as a liaison; exactly the best person for the job.
The girl in front of us has a blanket wrapped around her thin body, and bruises all over her face, her arms. I want to hug her.
I want to cry.
I want to kiss Dimitri.
"Now, Anika, I understand they took your passport," Ava says gently. "It wasn't possible for us to recover them, but we'll have new documents made for you. What’s your year of birth? You can choose your birthday, but it should be the right year or thereabouts."
"Two thousand and one?" she seems to be asking more than saying.
"Good. Do you have a name preference? You can keep it close to your real one if it's easier for you, but you can choose whatever you'd like."
Her voice is very different from the one she uses when she speaks to me; sweeter, softer, like she's coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding.
"Any name?"
"Any you’d like to use for the rest of your life. It’s easier to handle new identities than reuse your old one."
"Is this…I mean, would it be legal? I don't want trouble."
"The government is aware of and supports our initiative, yes. Your new documents aren't going to be forged, if that's your question. And they'll be given to you, with no conditions." Ava reaches across the desk to take Anika's hand.
Anika's not easily convinced. "What’s the catch?"
Ava doesn't look mad or insulted of the lack of trust. "You’ll be given a choice. You can leave with five thousand in cash in your pocket and your new ID. Go wherever you want, do what you’d like. But then your life is your responsibility. We can’t spend all our resources protecting everyone. Otherwise, you can remain here under the Wolf umbrella. Well, not here, here. We have apartment complexes all over the country. Some aboard, too. There are plenty of different jobs you could do."
"What sort of job?" she pushes.
"I don't know. I don't work in HR, so I'm not sure of the current positions, but anything from secretarial, hospitality, administration, to more white-collar jobs, if you're qualified for it."
"So you're saying you don't want me to be a whore?" Anika asks directly.
"Whether you remove your clothes or not is up to you from now on. I understand some of the employees choose to do it for extra pay," Ava says, with zero judgement. "Others don't. What you need to understand is that your choices will not be taken away from you from this point onward. Leave or stay, that doesn't matter. You belong to you now."
That's when she starts crying, and so do I. I make another cup of tea for everyone, wishing mine were spiked.
In the end, Anika chooses to remain, as do the twelve other women Doctor Palmer sees afterwards. The boy decides to take the five grand and leave after the IDs.
"How do you get them IDs?" I ask. "You said they aren't forged."
"Dima cut a deal with the government for situations like these. I don't know the details, but I understand it's one of those, you scratch my back, I scratch yours things. He gives information, I think. We take care of our own and they don’t cause problems. Everyone wins."
"So you're part of his company?"
She shakes her head. "No, I have my own practice. But Dima knows me, so when he took over, and needed a professional who knows how to speak to people like them—hurt, mistrusting, broken, and often needing psychological help—he came to me. I volunteered, honestly, but he insisted on paying me an insane amount of money, mostly because it tends to be out of the blue, middle-of-the-night calls and long shifts. I'm done for the night here." She reaches out to me and squeezes my hand, like she has with many other girls tonight. "Now let's go back to our girl talk, yes?"
"Do we have to?" I grimace.
"No. But if it's truly bothering you as much as I think it is, I want you to ask yourself why." She stands and start to gather her things. "Shall I get you back upstairs? You don't want to get lost here."
It occurs to me that I've spent a very big portion of the night with her. I don't know what time it is, but I wouldn't be surprised if it’s close to morning, and all of a sudden, I'm beat.
"Yeah. I could do with a nap on the sofa."
"There are a hundred and fifty rooms at the very least. I'm pretty sure we can find you something better than a sofa."
She leads me to the entry hall first, and we're just on our way up the first flight of stairs when Dimitri walks in, standing next to an equally attractive, if slightly scruffier man, this one with long, jet-black hair, and eyes to match.
"Ah, perfect timing," Ava says. "I trust you can lead my lovely assistant to a flat surface she can collapse on?"
"Of course. Are you staying? It's a little late to make your way back to the city."
"No, I need to head back to my husband and the girls. Dima. Mishka. Always a pleasure."
"Ava," the dark-haired man says, holding the door open for her.
"Willow, this is my childhood friend, Mishka—Mikhail Artyomov. I trust him with my life. Mishka, Willow. She's under my protection."
"Lovely meeting you, ma'am," he replies politely, with the ghost of a smile. Then he hits Dimitri's shoulder. "Call me when it's taken care of, yes?"
"Will do."
They part ways, Mishka heading downstairs, and Dimitri stalking up to join me on the stairs. He offers me his arm gallantly. "A flat surface was requested?"
"Please."