29. Nona
NONA
The door on this side of the panic room has a single handle, hooked to the door like a small railing, smooth and silver metal that’s cool to the touch.
There were a couple of times where I would hide in this room when Papa’s rage was over the edge. I’d stay in here until he got it all out, something that would oftentimes result in him smashing up my bedroom and destroying some of my most precious toys.
It’s amazing what you learn to lose when the most important thing you learn from your parent is how to avoid them when they get angry.
Those couple of times, he didn’t find me and I was able to wait him out.
I never knew if it ever occurred to him to try and find me hiding here or if he just decided it wasn’t worth the effort to look once his temper cooled.
All I did know is that by the time I saw that he was drunk and asleep somewhere, I could slip out and start cleaning the mess he left in the wake of his terrible temper.
This time… while it might have seemed similar at first, it is so different. I don’t think he’s ever really wanted to kill me before today. And that drive has caused him to seek me out in the most logical place that I might hide from him.
I hear his footsteps in the hallway behind the door and I start to shake again. He can’t open this door from that side. If he could, what would be the point of even having this room? I’m safe here. I’m—
“You think you can hide from me in there, don’t you?” his muffled voice comes through the metal of the door between us. “You must think you’re pretty smart to choose the panic room to get away from me.”
I cover my mouth to stifle a whimper. Maybe if he thinks I’m not here, he’ll go away.
“You can’t run away from the inevitable,” he says. “You can’t keep yourself safe from your crimes, little girl.”
I hear the soft sounds of sliding against the door. I turn to the monitor wall behind me and the camera just outside this door shows him sliding his hand over the door slowly.
I also see that he has a knife in his hand. The blade shines up at me as if it’s speaking its own language. We’re coming for you, Nona. You and your little baby…
Papa takes a step back from the door and for a split second, I think that he’s going to leave. He doesn’t. He looks up at the camera, at me, and he smiles. Then he walks to the opposite wall and places his hand on it.
And then I hear a click in the door behind me.
I whirl around and grab the handle, pulling on it to hold it closed. It moves slightly, then locks itself back into place.
“Tricky little thing,” he mutters. He keeps his hand on the wall and I hear the lock disengaging again and again. I hear him laugh. “You can’t keep holding the door forever.”
He leans against the door and his laugh turns into a sickening cackle. I hold onto the handle for dear life, but the door starts to jerk away from me and the smooth metal starts to slide out of my hands.
“Leave me alone!” I shout desperately.
“You’re not getting away… from… me!”
The door jerks hard and flies from my hand, swinging open. I stumble back as the hallway opens up to me. Papa stands there, his knife in his hand.
“Hello, Dochurka,” he says.
He comes at me and his arm swings back, ready to stab me.
Instinct takes over and I grab his arm with both hands, stopping its trajectory.
He puts his whole body weight into it, leaning into me.
My arms start to bend and I realize I can’t hold him back any longer, so I turn, twisting out of the way as I let his arm go.
He stumbles forward and his free arm nearly clotheslines me.
I manage to get around him, but only for a moment as he sticks out his foot.
I trip, falling ass over tea kettle out of the panic room and falling face first on the floor.
My forearms break my fall, scraping the marble floor as I skid away from him.
I turn over on my back just as he stalks toward me…
Then everything stops. We both hear the sound of gunshots somewhere nearby. Papa looks up and freezes for a moment. Then he mutters, “Shit.”
A split-second crazy thought runs through my mind and I kick him hard in the shin. He drops the knife and pulls it up, holding his shin as he hops back a few inches.
“Fucking little—”
I’m scrambling to get to my feet, but he’s already on me. He knocks me back to the floor and straddles me.
I start swinging my arms at him, slapping his chest and his face. “Get off me!” I scream.
He bats all my attacks away, then wraps his hands around my neck and starts to squeeze.
“This little game is over,” he growls at me.
I slap and scratch at his arms as the air starts to leave me. The sound of gunshots echoing in the distance seems to be getting closer… then far away. The sides of my vision start to darken.
I try to scream. Try to fight. No… it can’t end like this…
And then suddenly, his hands loosen and a rush of air enters my lungs. I cough and sputter as he lifts up off me, and I roll to the side to try and suck in as much air as I can.
Through my coughing, I hear Alex’s voice in a low lion’s growl.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Papa’s weight is completely off me as the air starts to come easier. I hear him say, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
Alex doesn’t say anything to that. As I sit up, I see him standing at the end of the hallway, a gun drawn on my father. He says to me, “You okay, Nona?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good. Come on. We’re leaving.”
I go to stand and my father’s voice booms. “Don’t you fucking move.” Just like a switch that’s been thrown in my mind, I stop and freeze, looking back over my shoulder at him. He’s closer to me than Alex, but Alex has the gun.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” he says. “She is my daughter, Molotov. She will never be part of your family.”
Alex doesn’t move and he doesn’t take his eyes off my father. “Nona,” he says calmly. “Stand up and stay close to the wall. If he tries to touch you again, I will kill him where he stands.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father cock his head and smirk at him. “You won’t kill me. Not if you care for her. I’m her father. No matter what I’ve done, no one can change that.”
His saying that makes me sick and sad at the same time. He just tried to kill me, chased me all over this fucking house for the sole purpose of ending my life, and deep down, I know he’s at least right about one thing. He’s still my father.
But if he thinks I can’t hate him because of that…
I stand up. He snaps his head to me and says, “What do you think you’re doing? I told you not to move.”
His voice is so cold that I can feel it in my muscles. I start to walk toward my husband.
“Nona—”
“No!” I shout at him. “You don’t get to rule over me. Not anymore.”
I hold my head up and focus on Alex and I walk toward him. I only take two or three steps before I hear quick movement behind me.
“Fucking bit—”
Alex shoots, and I flinch as the loud shot rings in my ears. I look over my shoulder to see my father on the floor, yelling and writhing, holding his wounded shoulder as blood starts to pool under him.
Alex lowers his gun and meets me halfway. He touches my face, brushing my hair out of my eyes like he’s done maybe a million times before. Only now, he’s looking at me with something like relief behind his icy blue stare.
“The coast is probably clear by now,” he says. “Go meet Rikki and Kostya in the living room.”
I look back at my father who’s still squirming and swearing on the floor. “What are you going to do to him?”
“Make him pay.”
I nod and consider asking to stay and watch. After everything he’s put me through, after all the years of terrorizing me, it might be cathartic to watch him suffer.
That sentiment must be written all over my face because Alex leans into me and says, “You do not want to stick around for this part, Rabbit. Trust me.”
I believe him. I suppose if anyone knows about that, he would. “There’s a knife somewhere behind him,” I tell him. “He wanted to use it to cut the baby out of me. Make sure it finds a better purpose.”
His eyes widen slightly and his jaw clenches. He nods and says, “It will.” He kisses me on the forehead and adds, “Tell Kostya and Rikki to take you home. I’ll see you later.”
He says it flatly, less like instruction and more like a command. I’m expected to follow it without question, and frankly, I honestly can’t wait to. I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. He immediately falls into the kiss, wrapping one arm around my waist.
“Go,” he whispers as our lips part.
I walk away, turning down the next hall to leave him to his work. I’m only just past the parlor when I hear my father screaming in agony.
Good. I hope it hurts. I hope everything that’s coming to Slavik Sokolov is ten times every painful thing he ever brought down on me. I hope he dies screaming.
The smells of gunpowder and fresh blood hang in the air of the living room as I enter it.
Four men lie shot to death in different places.
One of them only a few feet to my left, lying face down in a pool of blood, two by the door, and one hanging half on and half off the railing leading upstairs.
And standing right in the middle of it all are Kostya and Rikki, and they’re both looking at me.
The sound of my father’s voice painfully cursing in Russian echoes off the walls of the hallway behind me. “He’s asked that you take me home,” is all I say to them.
They both nod and Kostya says, “Then we’d better get you home.”