But maybe, just maybe, that nightmarish world is colliding with mine.
And I’m caught in the intersection of two very different dimensions: the safe, cocoon-like shelter of my past, and the shadowy film noir of my imminent future. And where am I now? In limbo? The static place in between?
At this point, the loneliness of my predicament is digging in at me, tugging at the strings of my already-strained sense of sanity. There’s not a single sound, hinting to me that I’m either so far underground that sound can’t travel down here or that my little prison is sound-proof. Either way, I’m dying for any hint of humanity out there, even if it’s sinister in nature. Although I hate him with every fiber of my being, I wish Will would return, if only to remind me that other human beings still exist out there somewhere. Because down here in the dark, it really feels like I could be all alone in the world and I would never know the difference.
A shiver runs down my spine and I pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my calves and resting my chin on my knees. There are goosebumps prickling up and down my limbs. It’s so cold down here, especially now that I’m alone. I didn’t realize how comforting it was to have Maggie curled up with me until she was gone. Now I long for any kind of human contact to make me feel alive again. I’m so lonely and lost and afraid.
Almost like a cruel answer to my wish, the door creaks open again and Flameface — Boris — hobbles into the room, a shaft of dull light following to cast his shadow long and tall on the concrete floor. I can’t decide whether it would be better to run back and press myself against the opposing wall, as far away from him as possible, or to go to the gate in the dim hope of obtaining some human contact.
Instead, I simply stay put, curled up in my little ball.
“Feeling lonely, malyshka?” Boris sneers, his voice dripping with faux sympathy.
I don’t respond, not even moving. He strolls to the gate and pokes his fat fingers through the links again, staring down at me with a hungry gaze. At this point, I hardly care what he says or does to me. I feel so empty and exhausted. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“Oh, come. Don’t be impolite. I know you’ve got to be dying for a friend by now. Isn’t that right, suka?” he goes on, tapping his fingertips on the metal gate. I begrudgingly tilt my head ever so slightly upward to look at him and he grins.
“You know… I could be your friend,” he growls lecherously. “We still have time before the team arrives to stand guard here. I could make you feel things you’ve never even imagined. The man who buys you won’t know the difference if I punch the card first. And besides, if Will won’t use up his finder’s fee… I won’t let it go to waste. They don’t pay me enough. What’s a man to do? Got to get my fair stoimost somehow — whether in money or flesh.”
“Leave me alone,” I murmur weakly, but at this point I hardly care anymore. Some man is going to buy me and run me into the ground. I get it now. This is exactly like the documentary I watched. Only I’m no longer the detached spectator; I’m the victim.
Boris chuckles and starts to pick up the combination lock to undo it. “No? I like when they fight, anyway. Adds just the right amount of spice, vy znayete.”
“Please,” I mumble, trying to scoot back away. But my body is so tired from trembling and sitting still in the cold. It’s as though the despair my mind is feeling has transferred to my body and now it’s given up on me. Boris pops the combination lock open and reaches to pull the gate, but before he can finish, there is the sound of several sets of heavy footsteps approaching. He swears under his breath and quickly shuts and locks the gate again.
“Another time, then,” he hisses to me as he turns around to stand up straight and face the team of burly men walking in. They all wear identical grave, empty expressions and plain black clothing. There are four of them, all staring straight ahead. One of them steps forward and nods to Boris.
“Egor, Bogdan, go up to guard the entrance,” he barks in a heavy Russian accent. “Boris and Josef, you will stay in this room with me. Nachalnik has concerns over this one.”
It takes me a second to realize I’m the “one” he’s talking about.
“Special plans, da,” Boris agrees, and there’s a gruff indignation in his tone.
The speaker of the guard team nods and commands, “Assume positions.”
Two of the men, presumably Bogdan and Egor, walk out and march up the stairs. Boris and Josef station themselves directly in front of the gate to my enclosure and the guard leader stands by the door.