He removes the bag from my head. Bright sunlight stings my eyes and I squint to take in my surroundings. We're at the top of a bluff and all around are lush, pine covered mountains. Up the paved driveway looms a mansion. The two stories and stone covered walls immediately make me think of old castles you'd see in Europe. My head spins from the heroin or crank they injected into my veins for the journey here. I stay rooted in my seat until Perry drags me out. I cringe in my skimpy white dress against the brisk air. I must still be up north. He cuts the zip ties on my wrists and lets the dagger linger on me, a warning for running.
He shoves me forward and my stilettos threaten to snap.
"Time to make a proper woman out of you," he says behind me. I don't respond. In the weeks I've been with him, I've learned better than to talk back. But ever since that night at the Rockers, I've imagined killing him. He was the first man I was ever with, the first to introduce me to drugs, the first to terrify and terrorize me. I hate him.
I've been missing for three weeks? Maybe months? My search parties must be long gone, my parents giving up hope for even finding my body. My ankle rolls but Perry keeps me from falling. We approach the front veranda and he knocks on the crimson oak door, twice as tall as me. An older man in his 50's answers. He could easily pass for forty if it weren't for his silver hair that is still richly gray, not weathered and white. He smiles at me but I don't return it.
"I have her new I.D., birth certificate, marriage license. Everything to get this party going."
The man nods but remains fixated on me. He wears a dark suit with a silver tie and glinting cuff links. His face is worn and tired but his blue eyes remind me of a frozen over lake, cool with something stirring beneath it. His gaze makes me want to shrivel up or cry. I don't see any compassion in him. When he looks at me I don't feel like a person, but an object. The longer he stares, the angrier I feel.
"Is she high?" he whispers. His voice has a twinge of an accent, possibly European.
"Only for easier transport. Unless you like her like that. We can have the-"
"No," he says. "Bring her in."
When we enter the landing my shoes click hesitantly on cedar floors. An rod iron chandelier dazes me with it's warm lights. I scratch my arms and jump when the door is shut. An older maid stares at me from the top of the spiraling staircase. She wrinkles up her nose and turns away.
"So is your payment prepared?" Perry asks.
The man ignores him completely and opens a closet. "This is fox fur. Here, you look freezing." He drapes the fluffy and incredibly soft fur over my bare shoulders. I'm taken aback by his kindness but it doesn't change my dislike. No decent man should be forcing a woman to marry him.
Perry tries to get the process up and going again. "So this is Katia, a Russian name like you requested. She even kind of looks the part if I do say so myself."
I can still smell the harsh chemicals of hair dye on my scalp. I used to be blonde, but now I'm a red head. Perry did a good job of making it look natural, not flaming Ariel red or almost purple. I look like I was born this way. I'm sure he's had lots of practice.
"Katia is good. I have my payment ready to be wired to your account."
"That would be excellent Nicholas." Perry says. He promptly sits down at the computer and attaches a jump drive. "You lock the front door?"
Nicholas nods.
"She can be a runner," Perry adds. "Her dope will probably wear off in an hour or so."
The living room sways and I steady myself against a couch with floral inlays. My fingers graze black birds made of gold hooked on leafy tendrils of silver against a backdrop of red velvet. Nicholas leads me to sit despite my urge to not. I want to leave, run, despite there being no where to go. I'm completely lost and incoherent. Across the couch is a massive marble fireplace with a fire going. At first I think it's marble in its natural form, but I see faces. They're all women with delicate features. Some are laughing while others are frozen in fear. I grip the armrest with sweaty fingers.
Nicholas notices my discomfort. "This fireplace has been in my family for six generations. It's beautiful isn't it?" Nicholas says.
I breathe out. "Yes." But I find it terrifying, as if all the faces are trying to drag me into the roaring flames. My head is too heavy for my shoulders so I lean back. Past the twisted light fixture, the ceiling has dark stains from leaks in the room above.
"Everything seems to be in order. Let's get started." Perry says. I hear his footsteps grown louder as he approaches me. He forces my head up and through the cloudy haze I can feel his irritation with me. I smile and he taps my cheek. "Come on baby, time to sign."
For a moment I imagine myself back at the club where we first met. I was at the bar getting drinks when he grabbed my waist and offered to pay my tab. I should have rejected him, and run back home. "No," I mutter.
He leans near my ear. "If you want something to get through the consummation you'll do it. Unless you'd like to remember all of this. Either way, you're getting married today."
"Please, I have a sister," I whisper.
" I don't give a shit, unless you want her to be a whore too."
I turn away from him. I'm disgusted for breaking down in front of him, for begging or pleading. My cheeks are wet so I know I must be crying, I just can't feel the sensation I usually get.
"What's it going to be Katia," he says.
"I'm Emily."
"I killed her. We both know that. Now fucking sign it." He grabs my hand and forces me to scribble my fake name. Afterwards I curl away from his kiss. He takes a baggie with white pills out and closes my hand around them.
I can hear the scratching of the pen as Nicholas signs it. He keeps his eyes on me the whole time. Afterwards he stands and pushes a silver band on my ring finger. My stomach is locked up, kneaded into a ball. He strokes my hand with rough fingers. I'm disgusted but I let him touch me. When he leans down to kiss me I tighten my jaw and seal my lips.
Perry signs the document and I see it's for the state of North Dakota. I breathe out. At least I'm not in Canada, I'm still in the land of the free...even though it doesn't feel like it. Perry shakes Nicholas' hand then smiles at me.
"Feel free to call, anything you need," Perry says. "We want you to be completely satisfied."
"I plan for smoother sailing this time," he replies. After Perry leaves he deadbolts the large door and jingles the keys. "I want you to be completely comfortable here."
I say nothing.
"I won't do anything to you, you don't want me to do. If you'd like to go outside you may. You may wander, you'll even have a room of your own."
"Can I talk to my parents?"
"Yes, but I'm not that stupid. I know you want out of here. That this is the last place you want to be. However, I'm willing to be patient. I think in time you won't see me as your captor."
I say nothing again.
He offers me his hand."Would you like to see your room?"
I shakily grab his hand. We ascend the staircase and each step feels farther and farther away from me. Nicholas keeps pulling me up though, occasionally glancing back at me. When we reach the top I'm trembling and sweating. My muscles scream and want to give out. My knees buckle and Nicholas keeps me upright. I hold tight to the drugs Perry gave me. Any moment now Nicholas will make his move. I will not remember this experience like I did with Perry.
He rests me against wall, paneled with dark wood as he gets out his keys. He opens a door on the right, it's handle a design of ivy and flowers. He opens the door and half carries me in.
"I apologize for them drugging you," he says. The room swirls and I catch hints of floral wallpaper, light oak floors. He lays me down on a green four poster bed. I stare at the ceiling through the off-white lace canopy. The whole room smells of dried roses, dusty but sweet. My limbs are lead but I can still feel his eyes on me.
"Katia, where are you really from?" he asks from somewhere in the room. The bed creaks when he sits on it. My heart races, any moment now.
I could tell him I was raised in sun-soaked Georgia. That my mom is full fledged southerner with Native American blood in her. She met my father in college who charmed her instantly with his wise cracking mix of Mexican and Irish. I could tell him I was a southern peach with a bite, that when I've wanted something I've clawed my way to get it.
No, he must think I'm simple and uncomplicated.
"Georgia," I say. My skin pricks with goose bumps from his hand hovering over my arms. He leans over me and I can smell his rich cologne, the sharp spice of it enough to make me cough. His breath smells like coffee but with a smoked and burnt twang...cigars. I've managed to work a couple pills out of the bag...all I need is a moment to take them. Then I can float away.
But Nicholas remains close to me. His eyes trace the lines of my mouth, the arch of my eyebrows and tip of my slightly upturned nose. He could be counted each of my blonde freckles or contemplating his next move on me.
He brushes my hair away from my face. "I've always liked Georgia. It's hot, familiar and yet sweet... all at once." He looks away from me.
I try to down the pills and he grabs my wrist. I clench tighter on them, I'd rather obliterate them then lick the powder off my hands if I must. I won't hurt myself anymore. He makes me drop them then confiscates my bag.
"What did I say Katia?" he says.
My lips and mouth are dry. "That you wouldn't do anything I didn't want."
He nods then smiles like I'm a pet who has learned a new trick. "Do you want me to kiss you?"
I swallow. "Will you hurt me if I say no?"
He retreats from me. "No," he says. "I would never do that, unless it was deserved."
"No, I don't want you kiss me. I want to be left alone."
Nicholas squeezes my arm. "I can do that. There are clothes in the wardrobe. Feel free to take a shower. I'll come fetch you for dinner."
I nod. After he leaves I will myself to stand despite my body's trembling. Whatever they injected me with it's got to wear off soon. I stumble to my window and pause for moment, the view is breathtaking and crushing. Mountains encircle me, and fog clings to their dark green tops. As far as I can see there is nothing, no buildings protruding from the untouched landscape. I can't even see cutouts for roads. I grip the bay and bow style window, the half-circle, reach out view that slightly extends from the house is enough to humble me.
I pry back the latch but it won't give. Then I see the rusty nails on the outside, shutting me in. I pound the pane but stop, it's too loud for him to not know what I'm trying to do...and he clearly already thought of this plan. I go the giant oak wardrobe, tall enough to hide me comfortably. The panels are covered in intricate, carved flowers and leaves. Inside are dresses all in my size...10. There are boots, socks, leggings and tights for me to wear as well. I'm surprised at the girlish aspect of the clothes, they're all soft pastels with some gray and lacey, like something you'd see an old doll wear.
The clothes don't look like they've been worn but it doesn't settle my shot nerves any more. Once my body has somewhat returned to normal and my head is no longer stuffy and disoriented I decide to take a shower. The bathroom, not to my surprise, matches the Victorian Garden theme of light wood and pastels. I investigate the entire space for any peepholes or places for video cameras. I have no doubt eventually he will see me naked, however the thought of him spying on me without my knowing is enough to make my skin twitch.
I find nothing but numerous kind of flowery scented soaps and pink towels. I find no razors and discover that the mirror is made of that funky unbreakable and reflective plastic. I can't really see myself but find I won't be getting myself dolled up for him because I find no makeup, only perfume that reminds me of my grandma's house.
After I shower I put on a hideous pink dress with long, frilly sleeves. I wiggle into gray, cable knit tights before stepping into brown boots. I throw my hair up into a sloppy bun, I have no intention in beautifying myself for him. I don't trust him. His kindness seems out of place, but the isolation of his house and the clothes, all it gives me the feeling he's done this whole marriage thing before. And he doesn't seem like the kind of man to just let someone go.
When I open my bedroom door the maid is in the ornate hallway, dusting. She is pretty, with silvering blonde hair and classic facial features. However, there's a harshness to her that shows in her angular arms and legs. She doesn't smile at me and instead drops the bunch of ostrich feathers. She pulls my hair out of the bun and I yelp.
"This is no way to wear your hair," she keeps her voice hushed but it doesn't kill any of the severity. She yanks me down the hallway and pushes me back into my room.
"There was nothing in there for me to use," I say. I hate that I'm defending myself to her, a woman who clearly knows I'm here not out of free will.
"He likes bows," she says through thin lips. "Did you not find the ribbons?" I just stare at her and she shakes her head. She opens the wardrobe and pulls a box out. Inside are dozens of ribbons, in all differing shades and textures. "You should braid it, not look so sloppy."
I contemplate hitting her but I resist the urge. This crotchety woman must have some kind of sway over Nicholas and I certainly don't want to deserve anything.
"Okay," I say through gritted teeth.
She smiles and takes out a thick, pink ribbon. "Turn around," she says.
I do and she immediately begins to braid my hair. When she finishes she ties the bow around my head so I really do look like a doll when she shows me in the funhouse mirror. Her hands on my shoulders I know she's gauging me for a reaction.
"I look nice," I force out. Her grip relaxes and she grins.
Her words have that same European twist to them. "My name is Masha," she says.
I almost say my real name...Abigale. But I catch myself. "Katia," I tell her.
She hugs me and I smell the perfume Nicholas has placed in my room. "I think you will do so well here. He has been searching all over for someone like you."
"Thank you," I say. This woman is clearly crazy. She won't ever help me escape, she clearly cares about him.
"He has been cooking Shchi while you've been gone. Perhaps you can help him?" She says it like a concrete suggestion instead of a question. I nod and descend down the stairs. When she said Shchi, the short pronunciation immediately brought me up to speed-they're Russian.
When I come downstairs he is standing there to greet me. I try to not stiffen when he hugs me. "Katia, you are so beautiful."
I pace my breathing. He makes me feel fragile, china about to fracture under pressure. I force a smile. "Masha says you are cooking Shchi? You're Russian aren't you?"
"Katia, now you are too." He leads me into the large kitchen.
My mouth waters at the smell of tender beef and stewing vegetables, soft enough to easily cut. A large pot simmers on the eight burner stove and I see something browning in the woodstove. Yeast and the hearty, warm scent of bread baking teases me. I'm angry at myself for being hungry, for wanting anything this man makes.
"Can you get some bowls down?" he asks while he scoots the bread out.
I search the numerous cabinets and finally find the plates and bowls. I take down three and he smiles at me. "You are so sweet to think of Masha. I suppose she could join us."
My gut tightens but I return the gesture and bring the bowls to him so he can pour. At dinner I remind myself of how ridiculous this is, my clothes and them, that we're some kind of Russian family unit. However, I can't help but find them bearable. Masha tells me stories of her childhood. How beautiful is and their churches. They tell me that one day we will all have to go together and visit. At first I push around the potatoes, cabbage and carrots. But I eventually give in and eat the entire thing. I wasn't fed much during my stay with Perry. He bought me fast food but I refused to stomach it, because I knew somehow it would put me in his debt or warrant abuse. But here, despite Nicholas occasionally watching me tear at the bread I didn't get the feeling they were treating me like that.
"Do you like it?" Nicholas asks halfway through dinner.
The compliment comes easy to me. "I've never had it before. It's very good."
"I'm glad," he replies.
Many evenings go like this. He cooks a different dish every night and Masha continues to sit with us, mainly because I don't want our dinners to somehow turn romantic.
And one night after I mention off handedly that I enjoy sunflowers and garden roses the next afternoon Nicholas is out, planting sunflowers in and garden roses in full bloom. I watch him from my window, wondering what he expects from me. How long he'll remain patient. Or if, somehow, he is actually wanting me to fall in love with him. My thoughts of escape has slightly dwindled, there are no phones in the house and on some evenings I can hear wolves howling to one another. Nicholas owns three cars but he has the keys to all three. Perhaps eventually he'll trust me enough to let me drive into town, then I'll never return.
However, at times I find him somewhat charming. He doesn't mention to me that he made me garden and the fact that he is always humble about his cooking is refreshing for how good it really is. He doesn't try to kiss me or sneak into my room and eventually I begin to get more sleep and become used to the strange clothes. My old life is starting to feel more like a dream that was realistic but never existed.
Several weeks later, I finally decide to look at the flowers. The day is chilly and I know any moment now snow will start to fall. The sunflowers have begun to wilt against the bitter air and the garden roses are mostly stems. Their battered condition reminds me of how broken I am. I'm still haunted about what Julia and Kayla's lives are like now, if they're still alive.
Perry had four other men with him and after drugging us they took us to a house. That night, after they bound us, was the last time I saw them. I like to think that somehow they escaped and are looking for me with their families. Maybe they weren't as weak as me and found a way to commit suicide and opt out of their new lives as sex slaves or mail order brides. Our whole trip feels very wrong. That the same say we saw Mt. Rushmore was the day our very freedom was taken as if it never existed. It reminds me that my new life is no fairytale and despite Nicholas's charm, I will never love him and this won't have a happy end.
If I run away, he'll hunt me down or the wolves will get me. I've seen them sniffing around the yard late in the night before for any scraps. I had thought that by now he would trust me enough to give me more freedom, but that has yet to happen. He goes into town to pick up groceries once a week. I hold my bandaged arm close to my chest, my arm raw and burning with pain. Several days ago I decided to burn myself bad enough that I'd need a hospital. I stuck my whole arm into the wood fire oven. I did it with the intention that he'd take me to a doctor but Masha of course used to be a nurse so she cared for me. They even got me heavy pain killers to take but Masha is the one who distributes them to me. I can't even overdose if I wanted to.
I kick at the dying sunflower stalk and it snaps.
"What's wrong Katia?" he says behind me.
I wipe tears with my good hand. "My hand hurts, that's all."
"Do you not like the flowers?" he asks.
"They're dead," I whisper. I'm done pretending and playing this game. "What do you want from me?"
He touches the floppy bow in my hair. "You're company Katia. You look so beautiful today."
I cringe away from him. "Why did you buy me? You could have any woman without paying for it."
He drops his hand. "I wanted to protect you."
My voice cracks. "I was kidnapped Nicholas. Do you understand that? They took me away from my friends, my parents-for you."
"Katia, that is all in the past now. I can provide you with whatever you desire or want. We can go to Russia or Paris, their gardens there are so breathtaking."
"I want my family-my family. Not you or Masha, I'm tired of this!" I sob.
He nods and can no longer look at me and that's scarier to me than any anger. "I think you need time alone."
He grabs my wounded arm and I cry out. "Please, I'm sorry."
When we get back inside Nicholas calls Masha down. He throws wood into the massive fireplace and starts a fire. The faces carved into the mantle which usually look somewhat peaceful suddenly appear tormented and upset. I move in the room and their eyes seem to follow me. I can imagine their wails of pain as the fire builds.
"What's the problem dear?" Marsha asks Nicholas.
"Pack your things, we're leaving for a week. It's time we let Katia decide if she wants to be a part of this family."
I plant myself against the wall, farthest from them and the fireplace. "Nicholas-"
He points his finger at me. "Enough. You say you're tired? Well I am too. You've been here for several months. It's time to decide."
"You want the keys?" Masha asks Nicholas.
"Give them to her," he demands. Masha takes the jingling set out. There has to be at least twenty keys on there, and each one has ornate and unique bows and bits. But one stands out to me the most, it's tarnished and the bow is in the shape of an eye, the bit looks like a bunch of broken razors.
"I'll be down in a couple minutes. I'll pack you a bag too," she says without a word to me.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"That is not of your concern. Those keys open everything in the house and you're welcome to all of it. However, the one with the eye, I highly suggest you don't use that one. I've given you the upmost respect, now it's your turn."
His statement is confusing. "What if I need help? Are you going to leave a car or phone just in case?"
He laughs. "Come on Katia. We all know you burned yourself on purpose and I know you want to escape. You've made that very clear."
Masha comes down the steps with two full duffel bags. "There is gauze in the bathroom and other ointments, along with more pain meds."
"Aren't you afraid I'll hurt myself?"
Nicholas grimaces. "If you're going to hurt yourself you'll do it while we're gone. So feel free to kill yourself if that's what you want, or escape-however the animals are rather aggressive this time of year. Or you can stay here, keep things clean, look up some recipes and learn cooking until we're back." He comes close to me so his breath tickles my neck. "But if you're still alive when I come back I will expect you to take on your wifely duties," he whispers in my ear.
"Why don't you just kill me?" I say. "If I've disappointed you so much?"
"You haven't disappointed me, because I haven't let you. But now it's time to stop the games. I want a wife when I get home and if she isn't there...then yes, I'll be severely disappointed."
Nicholas strokes my hair and Masha leaves. "I've done all I can for you," he says. He leans in to kiss me and I turn my head so he'll get my cheek. His lips are rough and I hate them.
Anger wells in my stomach and I can't suppress it. "Why don't you just take what you want? You've already stolen everything else," I spit out the words at him.
He slaps me and I slide to the floor. I shouldn't have said it, but I'm tired of him always having the upper hand. "I'm not that kind of man," he says. He looms over me and for a moment I think he'll hit me again, but another blow doesn't come.
The words are a released breath. "I'm sorry," he says.
When I look up at him he turns away and bows his head. "See you in a week." The door shuts.
"Yeah," I say.
When they leave I immediately begin to search the house. There has to be a computer, or phone somewhere hiding. All I have to do is find it and then I can get out of here. I start in Masha's room, whose key happens to be the most boring of the bunch.
Her room is simple but filled with books on philosophy, war tactics and cooking. I find myself spending longer in her room because I find her intriguing...an elderly and intelligent woman who is a maid but was a nurse? The only solution I can figure is that she must love Nicholas. Why else would she subject herself to him? Her wardrobe consists of her usual black uniform...but then I find tucked in the back a strapless red dress and silky ribbon to match.
I move onto her bathroom and under the sink in a flowery vase I find ashes almost white. When I remove the lid I can taste the chalky remains at the back of my throat. I quickly put the lid back on, it's probably one of their dead relatives and I just tasted them. And when I find the exact same vase in Nicholas's bathroom I leave it alone.
A day later after prying up a floorboard in the hallway I uncover a wooden box with old photographs. They're grainy and faded so I have to squint to really see their faces. However, I can tell from the chapels in the background that these were taken in Russia or at least in front of The Church of the Savior On Spilled Blood and it's spiraling tops. The couple in the photo are young, my age perhaps so it must be Masha's parents. Then I flip it over for a description which reads:
Masha and Nicholas 1950
I drop the photograph.
That would make them at least 85 years old...not in their early 40's. I shove the box back and place the floorboard back. I have to keep searching for a way out of here, the more I learn about them, the stranger everything seems. The days keep blurring together and I'm down to two days before I can even realize it. I've searched all the rooms and used all the keys except the one I was told not to. I couldn't use it even if I wanted to because I have yet to find the room it goes to.
I start to retrace every space and cranny. I begin back in Nicholas's room. I yank the king size mattress off his perfectly made bed. Through the gaps in the old box spring I see a key hole in the floor. My heart races. I push the wooden frame to the wall and the outline of the secret trap door comes into view. The key hole sits above a simple knocker style door knob. I take out the key ring and find the one with the eye on its handle. A computer or phone...something of use to me has to be in here. I jab the key in and twist.
Click.
I tug on the steel handle and I swing the door open. A set of stairs descend into darkness. I feel along the edges of the door for a light switch...anything. My fingers find a string so I pull it. A light flickers on and I can see the concrete floor down in the room. When I get down there I see a leather chair, the back is high enough to hide the person sitting in it. The room smells damp and earthy but rotten. I walk past the chair, there's a shelf on the wall facing it. I can't breathe. They're large jars, the kind used for preserving specimens for science. And something large and fleshy bobs inside of them. On the shelf are plaques with names...Anya, Petra, Nadya, Tamara, Sonya, Alisa, Galina.
They're female heads.
One decapitated turns slowly in the foggy liquid and her eyes are opaque through the mess of her blonde hair. Her mouth is stuck in a constant, blood curdling scream. The stump of her neck is rough, as if it had been ripped from her body. One run below the shelf is an axe with flowers inscribed on the metal handle. The head is decorated with eyes without a face.
I stumble back. He killed them. All of them. The jars quiver and twitch on the shelf, hearts trying to restart. I have to leave. Now. Screw the wolves and wild animals, I'd rather risk that than this. The heads stare at me with demented faces and horrified eyes. I run up the stairs and try to calm myself down. I can't become them. I shut the door and lock it with the key but the handle is smudged with bloody fingerprints. My hands are clean and no matter how hard I rub at the handle the marks remain.
I run to my room and throw clothes in a bag. I can't stay here. I can't hide what I've discovered from him and I certainly will never stay. He's a monster and he could be coming back any minute. I take several knives from the kitchen and a large blanket. Anything in the fridge I throw into the bag.
I pass the large fireplace and then search for matches and lighters, something to help me easily build fires. The faces inside the wood gasp and cry out to me in their fixed state. I easily count seven...they begin to squirm and shift inside their wooden prison. The fire roars as dark liquid cascades from the mantle and drips onto the floor. In the light it has dark hints of red. The room stinks of fluid kept inside the body, sweet and metallic enough for your tongue to check for cuts in your mouth.
Blood.
It splashes and pools around my ankles. Speckles hit my light dress and in the blood reflections of the women scream and cry as Nicholas chops and tears them apart. Every scream and cry is amplified as the axe severs tissue and cracks bone. I shut my eyes but I can still feel it, the cold steel of the axe against my neck, the hotness of his breath. Their screams reverberate through me, shaking every nerve.
"Stop," I say. My voice is faint and trembles.
The screams of the women combine into a horrifying chorus. "Soon," they say. "Run. Leave, now."
"What?" I open my eyes and the blood is gone.
The faces are frozen and the fire crackles quietly beneath them. My dress isn't covered in blood but it all felt incredibly real. The key still has its smudges so it happened...it must have. I touch the faces carved into the wood, each victim. I rest my sweaty head against them, wondering if I can still hear them. My arm stings beneath the bandages and I take a pain pill before throwing them into the bag. I want Nicholas to suffer and Masha. But I have to live to do that. I open the front door when I see their car pull into the drive way.
He steps out. "Katia, where do you think you're going?"
"You're early," I say. Mostly to myself. I'm shocked. He isn't supposed to be here until another two days.
He tilts his head to the side. "I missed you."
` I keep as much distance between us as possible. "You said I could leave if I wanted. I don't want this. I decided."
His mouth twitches and his body slumps. "Please, Katia. I thought about it. I think I love you. None of the others ever tried cooking like you did. I never gave them gardens. I apologize for the ultimatum. You take as much time as you need."
Masha shuts her door. She crosses her arms and leans on one foot. "What happened while we were gone Katia?"
"Nothing," I tell her.
She shakes her head. "You can't just leave us. You know that." She gestures to the bag.
"I..know." I cradle my burnt arm but I don't drop the backpack. I keep my hold on it and prepare to run.
"Then why don't you head inside?" When I don't move she rolls her dark eyes. "Do we need to use force?"
"Masha," Nicholas scolds, then to me "Why don't you come in. I'll fix you something delicious."
"I don't want to live here anymore," I tell him. "I miss my family."
He closes the distance between us and I wince when he puts his arm around me. "I was thinking," he whispers to me. "Perhaps we could leave and just forget that any of this happened. Let's tell your parents that we eloped-we can leave if, together, if you wish." He smiles and his face is splattered with blood. I jump but when I look again it's gone.
"I-" but he whisks me back inside where I left the keys. Masha shuts the door behind us and my heart slams against my ribs. Nicholas sees how I've overturned chairs and rooted through everything. I unzip my backpack and grab a knife.
"You saw it didn't you?" she says.
"What?" Nicholas turns to me, all the color has drained from his face. "Put that down baby," he says.
I raise it, keeping my eyes on both of them. "You going to try and explain that?"
Masha bows her head. "It's going to take more than that to kill us."
"Masha stop it!" he says. "Katia," he starts at me and I slash at him. He raises his hands.
"Don't come near me," I reply through clenched teeth.
"We can have you join us," Nicholas says. "The fireplace has strange properties."
Masha stares him down. "How could you!" She shoves him. "No one else is supposed to know! Remember?"
The flames in the fireplace rise high enough to lick the mantle. The faces begin to shift and writhe. I remain silent. They're both blocking the front door but I could make a break for the kitchen, go out that door.
"That promise is outdated and you know it," Nicholas tells her. "It's time for a change. Go get the ashes and some water...now."
Ashes...is that how they've remained youthful for so long?
She clenches her fists. "No," she says. They get close to each other, neither one willing to back down. "You're being pathetic," she says.
Nicholas slaps her. She cowers but doesn't move. "All those women," she says. "I helped because of you."
He stares her down. "I never made you. Don't play the victim."
She throws her hands up. "But I never wanted it! The youth, the violence. I did all of it for you. For sixty years I've stood by you-no questions."
"I want a companion. You've always known that!"
Now is the time. I sprint into the kitchen, my legs moving with a speed I've never felt. My fingers fumble with the door handle and I can hear their yells and angry voices at my actions. I throw the door open and run through the yard but Nicholas is right on me, his heavy breathing a constant reminder of what awaits me if I make one mistake. Masha comes out of the house with a shotgun, she fires a round in the air then aims it right at me.
I freeze and Nicholas grabs me. I try to plunge the knife into him but it only gets his arm. He yells and punches me in the stomach. I hit the ground, breathless but he yanks me up. He is no longer sweet or sensitive when he touches me. His hands threaten to choke me and he pins my arm behind my back. His blood trails into the mossy grass and he struggles to drag me back into the living room. But Masha is there with the shotgun on me, acting as though everything that just happened is routine. Nicholas checks his arm and takes off his shirt. Bulging muscles flex and straighten as he uses his shirt to tourniquet the bleeding. He would be attractive if I didn't know he uses his body as a weapon.
She leans against the mantle."Let's kill her. And after that we can start over, just you and me."
"We tried that once, and it didn't work out."
"Either have those seven women. I've waited patiently through all of them. They were only good for keeping us alive. This one is no different and you know it."
Nicholas pauses and watches me. He chews his lip and pops his hands. "What did you think of my collection?" he asks me.
There's no point in me being polite. I'm going to die. "I wish you were who you said you were," I say. "You should have told me right when I got here, instead of pretending to be a gentleman."
"The first one was a mistake. She cheated on me, I killed her. To hide the body I burned it all except her head. It was only after it poured and water mixed with the ashes did we realize how rejuvenating dead youth is."
"You don't know how fucked up that sounds."
"I had to honor them somehow, there and in the fireplace seemed the most appropriate. But I did love them all. Just like I do you."
"You disgust me. If you're going to kill me then just do it."
Masha pumps the shotgun."You heard her." The flames in the fireplace are growing and the faces are shifting, moving, uniting. "Let's face it Nicholas, one of us is dying today. Her, or me," she says pointing the gun at me.
The mantle begins to bleed again. This time, the flow is slow and steady and Nicholas doesn't notice it until it's surrounding Masha. He points at it and is about to warn her when the blood rises like and strikes out at him. The blood coats them and weighs them down despite their screams. Nicholas claws at the air but is brought to his knees. Faces form in the blood and pull and lash at them.
"How does it feel?" they ask in unison before returning to echoes of insults and threats. Nicholas tears at his face, drowning in blood how the dinosaurs must have in tar and mud. Masha crumples in the lethal pool that anchors her down. Their bodies sink and melt with gurgling cries as the remains retreat back to the hearth. But the seven bloody figures drenched and unrecognizable encircle me. I can taste ash and the salt of their tears. I shut my eyes, sure they're here to kill me.
"Thank you," they whisper in different tones and voices.
I open my eyes and all seven of the women are clean of the blood. They wear their clothing that Nicholas killed them in, lacy and frilly dresses with bows in their hair. They're incredibly beautiful and each one smiles at me, their lips upturned just a notch above a frown. I'm crying and shaking and the all put their hands on me and I feel warmth from their translucent hands. I smile at them but all I want to do is cry. Cry that any of this happened to me, to them. That I can never recount this story without anyone thinking I'm crazy.
I drop to the ground. The fireplace now has two faces...a man and a woman. I sob in relief and the women dissipate. I'm all alone but then I see the car keys.
I pick them up. Good riddance.