Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Tatiana
I’m delirious with thirst.
My captors only allow me a few sips of water after long intervals, probably to prevent me from dying too quickly. I read that a person can live approximately three days without water. At least they removed the gag that soaked up my saliva. My mouth is less dry without it.
“Water,” I croak when the door opens and the bulkiest of the men enters.
He’s still wearing a ski mask. I’ve decided to call him Hulk. It’s a way of keeping my wits about me, of distinguishing between my abductors, although it’s been a while now that I’ve seen no one but Hulk.
He unties me and pulls me from the chair.
No!
Not again.
For what it’s worth, I fight as he drags me to the metal trunk in the corner.
It’s futile. I’m no match for his strength.
He lifts the lid and pushes me inside.
“No,” I scream. “Don’t leave me here!”
I don’t have a choice but to curl myself into the too-small space before he slams the lid, closing me into inky darkness.
Panic takes over, stealing my sanity. I can’t spend another day here. Or two. I have no way of telling how many hours at a time he locks me up in this trunk. I’ve lost track of time. All I know is that I’ll go out of my mind.
The lock on the outside clicks into place.
I bang on the lid, crying hysterically. “Let me out.”
Heavy footsteps fall on the floor. A door shuts with a mockingly quiet click. A second ticks past. Two… Nothing but silence follows.
I can’t breathe. There’s not enough air. I suck in the thin oxygen like a suffocating person, the effort hurting my chest.
Filling my lungs with the precious air, I scream until I faint.
Days could’ve passed. Or hours.
Only one thought keeps me from losing the battle against insanity.
Noah.
I have to stay alive for my baby. I have to fight for my son.
I mutter his name while touching my knuckles like the beads of a rosary. It’s a trick my mom taught me to calm myself when I was scared as a child. Like a prayer, I repeat his name, over and over.
Thumb. Noah. Forefinger. Noah. Middle finger. Noah. Ring finger. Noah. Pinky. Noah. Noah, Noah, Noah…
I’m so absorbed in my prayer that I don’t register any sounds until someone opens the lock.
When the lid lifts, I blink against the sunbeams that cut through the room. After the complete darkness, even the faint light spilling from the holes in the cardboard hurts my eyes.
Hulk hauls me out and puts me on my feet. He’s still wearing the army fatigues, but he smells clean, as if he bathes and changes clothes regularly.
Unlike me. I smell. My hair is oily and my skin sticky.
My joints and limbs are useless from being squeezed into the cramped space without moving for endless hours. They fold in on themselves like a puppet with snipped strings.
The man grabs my arm to hold me up.
“Tatiana.”
A shiver rakes down my spine. For a while, I’m not sure how long, I’ve forgotten my own name. I hate how he says it. His accent is heavy. Russian, I think.
“It’s time to make a choice.”
No.
I want to scream, but my vocal cords are too raw. I can’t make a sound.
Noah, Noah, Noah…
“The trunk or water?”
I want to cry, yet my eyes have been dry for a long time now. They seem to be as dehydrated as the rest of me.
I manage to squeak out, “No, please.”
“Now, now.” He clicks his tongue. “That’s not an answer.”
Sagging in his hold, I let my legs give out. It feels as if my arm may pull out of my socket, but I don’t have enough strength left to fight.
“I’m waiting, Tatiana.”
I shake my head. If I say water, he’ll ask me questions I can’t answer. Then it’s back to the trunk.
His voice is deceptively gentle. “Where’s the necklace? Tell me where it is, and you can have a glass of water.” He reaches out and takes something from the darkness. “Here. Listen.”
Bells ring through the air, pure and angelic.
“It’s nice and cold.”
Ice cubes, not bells. Aren’t they the same?
I feel myself going, giving in to the mercy of darkness, but a rough shake jerks me back to the cruel present.
“Do you want a sip?”
“Yes.” I shiver with anticipation. “Please.”
“Then tell me where the necklace is.”
I utter a cry that doesn’t even qualify as a sound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He sighs. “Come on.”
No!
My scream is silent as he drags me back to the trunk. With a single push on the center of my breastbone, I go down, falling onto my back. I don’t have the energy to pull my knees to my chest. Hulk does it for me, folding me double before he forces the lid down.
Click.
When he pulls me out again, I simply go with the flow, letting him dump me on the floor.
“Tatiana.”
I know that girl. In a distant corner of my mind, I remember her face. Her history seems intimately familiar. I try hard to focus because if I get the questions right, I can have that water with the tinkling bells. No, ice.
“Where’s the necklace?”
I curl into a ball, not wanting to go back into the trunk.
“Where did you hide it? At home? Somewhere else? In a safe?”
Safe.
An image of a metal box pierces my memory. Gold letters on a black facade.
“Did you bury it like a treasure?”
Four numbers flash through my mind.
“My poor Tatiana.” Hulk hauls me up by my arm. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” I rasp as he heaves me toward the trunk, my uncooperative legs dragging behind me.
He pauses.
“Prosperity.”
His voice sharpens with his greed for answers. “What was that?”
“Prosperity Bank.”
“Are you sure?”
I see it clearly now, the black building with the big glass doors.
I nod.
Somewhere, a door opens with a squeak. Footsteps fall on the floor.
Hulk speaks. “Get the car ready, and send Oxo to get her cleaned up. Give her the broth but only a few spoons. Otherwise, she’ll vomit it up.”
Not the trunk, I want to say, but Hulk lowers me into the chair.
He leaves with whoever he’s addressed, closing the door behind them. Unless he was speaking to me? Panicking, I claw at my knuckles.
Thumb…Noah…forefinger…Noah…
Am I supposed to do something? Feed someone?
Noah?
The door opens again. This time, a light comes on. I blink a few times for my eyes to adjust.
A woman enters, carrying a tray with a bowl and a spoon.
Peroxide blond hair is tied into a thin, messy ponytail.
Her features are delicate but also somehow hard.
Maybe it’s the abundance of blue eyeshadow and the false black lashes that give that impression.
Yet the gap in her crooked front teeth as she attempts a smile makes her look strangely vulnerable.
So do her bony hips that are visible under a hot-pink miniskirt that she paired with a yellow crop top.
Fishnet stockings and black ankle boots complete her ensemble.
She leaves the tray on the floor and picks up the bowl. Avoiding my eyes, she lifts the spoon to my mouth.
I don’t care if it’s poisoned. My mouth opens of its own accord, my tongue lapping at the content on the spoon.
It’s lukewarm and meaty. I count every spoon she feeds me—nine—and then I drink the quarter glass of water she holds at my lips.
The water is at room temperature and not cold like the sound of the ice has hinted. Or maybe that was a different day.
I drink it all. The water has a slight metallic taste and a mineral-rich undertone, reminding me of the tap water I drank, but I can’t remember where.
“There.” The woman dabs at my lips with a paper napkin. “Let’s get you nice and clean, okay?”
Unlike the men, she doesn’t have an accent. She sounds like a born and bred New Yorker.
She takes me to a room at the back with a toilet and shower.
The tiles are chipped. They might’ve been white once, but they’re so dirty now it’s impossible to tell their original color.
Crude words are graffitied on the walls.
A lonely weed pushes through a crack in the corner where the water-stained ceiling caves. A musty smell of mold hangs in the air.
After disrobing me, she throws my soiled dress and torn stockings as well as my underwear in a garbage bag. I think I had one shoe when they took me, but I don’t know what happened to it. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about something so mundane.
I’m too dehydrated to need the toilet and too weak to stand on my own in the shower. She undresses and gets into the open stall with me, avoiding the spray of cold water as she lathers my hair and body with a bar of soap.
When she turns me around, she utters a gasp. “Sweet baby Jesus.”
I strain my neck to look over my shoulder.
Oh.
The scars.
“Christ. What happened to you?”
They seem to have always been there. I can’t remember how I got them.
She mutters something I can’t make out.
When I’m clean, she dries my body with a thin, scratchy towel.
She puts her clothes back on before helping me into a dress.
It’s an elegant dress, one without sleeves.
Expensive. Exactly what Dante would’ve chosen for me.
It’s a challenge to pull on the sheer stockings, but the woman—Oxo—helps me.
I force myself to remember her name as it’s the only name they’ve given me.
She hands me a pair of flat shoes that matches the eggshell-color of the dress.
While I sit on a bench in front of a broken mirror, she brushes my hair and twists the wet strands into a bun.
Then she does my make-up, applying kohl eyeliner, dark eyeshadow, and red lipstick with a heavy hand.
She finishes off with a thick layer of concealer under my eyes and a lot of blush on my cheeks.
When she’s done, she steps away to inspect her work.
“She needs jewelry,” a man says from the door.
At the sound of Hulk’s voice, a repulsive shiver crawls through me.
She scowls. “I’m not done.”
I turn to look at him. He’s wearing a dark suit and white shirt. It’s so strange to see him without the ski mask that, for a moment, I think the image is a mirage and not real.
But then he speaks again. “Hurry up.” His tone is brusque. “We leave in five.”
His black hair is pulled back from his face and tied into a man-bun, exposing a broad forehead and a sharp nose. In the darkness, I never got a good look at his eyes. They’re a nondescript brown, made a little more noticeable by the long lashes framing them.
Catching my gaze, he grins.
I look away quickly.
Oxo takes a pair of pearl earrings from the make-up box and fastens them to my ears.
She does the same with a short pearl necklace that she clips around my neck.
They didn’t take the ring on my left hand.
Seeing that the diamond is worth a lot of money, I find that strange.
Mind you, they did take the Rolex Dante had given me.
An odd unease stirs in my conscience at the thought of the watch. There’s something about the expensive gift I don’t like, but before I can ponder the thought, Oxo removes a vial and a hypodermic needle from the box.
Startled, I lean away from her when she comes closer.
“It’s just something to give you a little energy boost,” she croons. “Nothing to get worked up about.”
Not giving me time to protest, she grips my arm and jabs the needle into my muscle. A moment later, a wave of nausea hits me. Clutching my stomach, I fold double.
“Don’t worry.” She clucks. “You’ll feel better in a minute.” She presses a swab of cotton wool on the puncture mark the needle has left. “As strong as a horse. You’ll see.”
The man’s footsteps fall behind me, coming closer. I try to suppress a shudder and fail.
He stops in front of me, watching me with cold eyes and a menacing smile. “Now you’re going to take me to that bank and give me the necklace.”
I look at his hands, noticing the gloves.
A picture of another pair of gloves drifts into my mind.
They’re cupping my face where I’m trapped in a snow globe.
The warmth of those hands seeps through the butter-soft leather, penetrating my cheeks.
A scary, honest look burns in Dante’s eyes as he promises he’ll fix everything that’s wrong.
The woman steps behind me and fiddles with my hair. A sharp prick at the back of my head makes me jerk. The spot where she jabbed me burns as if my skin is on fire.
A wave of heat rushes through me, waking up every cell in my body. I’m vibrating from within, the fire inside me not only ignited by Dante’s touch but also by his intentions.
Fingers flick in front of my face. “Tatiana.”
The voice is all wrong.
I look up to find Hulk staring at me.
“It’s the drug,” Oxo says. “It must be kicking in.”
“Are you sure it’s going to work? I don’t want her to fucking faint or OD on me.”
“The dose wasn’t that high. I gave her just enough so she can walk on her own. The plan won’t work if you have to carry her into the bank, will it?”
“How long is this shit going to last?”
“She’ll crash in a few hours, so that buys you enough time.”
“What if they question her?”
“Like I said, I just gave her enough for a physical high. She’ll be lucid enough.”
“You sure about that? She’s not a junkie like you.”
“Fuck off, Yury.”
He pulls back and slaps her hard across the face. “Now the bitch knows my fucking name.”
Oxo turns her head back to him with a narrow-eyed glare, licking blood from her bottom lip. “Does it matter?”
“Fucking whore.”
“Well, since you like dipping your dick in this whore’s cunt, I guess that makes you one too.”
He raises his hand as if to backhand her again, but she lifts her chin and stands her ground. Seeming to change his mind, he curls his fingers into a fist and swings it at her face only to stop at the last minute. When she winces at the mock-charge, he laughs.
“Get this shit out of here,” he snarls. “Make sure you don’t leave a trail.”
She closes the make-up box. “I know how to wipe out my tracks.”
Hulk smiles at me. “You don’t want to go back into the trunk, do you?”
I barely contain a whimper.
“Then you’re going to do what I tell you.” He grabs my bicep and hoists me to my feet. “You’re going to walk into that bank on my arm, and you’re going to look as if it’s the only place you want to be.”