This story is my personal challenge. Something I will finish in a given time frame. I don't think is particularly insightful, there are a lot of better written and more interesting ones here and on AO3, but that's beside the point. It's something I came up with and decided I will, for once, complete. A kind of silly tale I like to read myself, especially on cold autumn evenings.
The ending is already written, most of the content in between as well. I have set a date, when everything will be published - regardless of my satisfaction with the end result. This story is being polished, because I want it to be the best I can dish out to you.
Hope you'll enjoy reading, as much as I enjoy writing it. :)
Helena wanted to get away from the forest as soon as possible.
Solitary retreat in a lake house sounded like a good idea, at least at first. A week of peace and quiet, without Internet. So, no nagging friends nor family, no distractions - only books, hobbies, good food and picturesque views.
Paradise.
In theory.
After two days, Helena couldn't wait to be back in her city apartment, still alone but not as isolated like back in the cottage. While visiting it before she had always had company, so there wasn't anything to prepare her for the paranoia of unfamiliar sounds, unidentified movements seen out of the corner of her eye, and general uncertainty of what would happen next.
There were times she just couldn't handle life. Not as in wanting to die, but in a way that had made her cringe and tense up every time she had to fulfil yet another mundane repetitive obligation. Dress. Answer the phone. Eat. Smile. Talk with people.
This was one of those days. No will to actually accomplish anything, no real tasks to do, but overall an overwhelming mountain of stress rolling on her shoulders, gradually wearing her down. The apprehension of jumping on every unusual sound made her decision easy.
So, she packed back everything she came with, turned off water and electricity, stored food that could spoil in the car's cooler, and set back home in the jeep her sister had lent her along with the cabin.
It was for the best, anyway.
She rode without music on, since radio reception was patchy at best. The road stretched through acres of woods, sneaking down and turning frequently. Driving was calming, especially now in spring, when the Sun warmed somewhat icy breeze coming down the mountains.
Mind wandering idly, she passed turns automatically.
Unamused smile graced her features, as she remembered how her supposed "iciness" was held against her during her time with her husband. Recent divorce still hadn't quite settled in her awareness, the bitterness of a split up still echoing with a bad taste in her mouth every time she remembered it. Letting herself immerse in her thoughts alone in the cabin was, as it turned out, the worst course of action she could take.
The car climbed a particularly high hill, slowly emerging on top. Helena almost stopped, blinded by horizontal rays of setting Sun. There appeared to be a blockage ahead. She leaned in, squinting, trying to decipher what exactly was happening further on the road.
Two SUVs flanked a sedan, with four bikers scattered around.
Was it some kind of movie being shot? It looked that way… Or maybe, customs officers set up to catch a smuggler?
As she watched, men from SUVs jumped out towards the sedan, while bikers pulled out what she knew were guns. You don't hold a camera like that.
Plus, shots were fired.
Oh shit!, she thought, frantically setting the gear to reverse. Without looking at the scene below started speeding back down to the other side of the hill.
If it was a movie, everything would be fine. It probably was just another spy flick, shot in the mountains to amplify feeling of isolation and hopelessness.
She heard revving of the bikes behind. Quick glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed - she was being chased by four guys who possibly just killed someone. Almost involuntarily she floored the gas pedal. The road was familiar, so she knew where she could safely speed and which turns were dangerous.
Nonetheless, the bikes were slowly gaining on her.
The absurdity of her situation hit her hard. Is this a fucking James Bond movie?, she thought just as a bullet impacted on the tree on her left. Using every bit of her meagre expertise behind the wheel, she double clutched every turn and desperately tried to outrun her fate.
They started shooting at her more frequently, shattering side windows and cracking the front. That slowed her right down. They caught up.
She killed the engine, defeated.
One man pointed his gun through the shattered window and the other roughly manhandled her out of the car. Two other bikers waited at the back, one a hulking mass of muscle, brought out even more by canvas jacket hugging his form. He barked out some orders to the guy holding her, his voice oddly mechanical.
The fact that she didn't know the language spooked her even more than the situation itself.
She was pressed to the jeep, hands planted roughly on cold bonnet, legs kicked apart. The biker patted her none too gently, obviously looking for any weapons she might conceal about her. Meanwhile, the Big Guy lazily unmounted, strolled over to the other side of the vehicle. Helped by both other men, they started to go through her things, commenting between themselves.
Helena observed, silent and helpless, as the leader zeroed in on the wooden box she left on the backseat. Her eyes never left his hands, as his fingers inspected the object with surprising dexterity. He opened it, sliding off the material securing the contents and took her life's work out from its safe box.
His helmet shot up, as in that moment he must have looked straight at her. He barked another order, which made her guard immediately yank her around the car, closer to the boss. Her jaw tightened, when he thumbed up the cover and shuffled through the book in his hands.
Again, he barked some words, and she realized it was at her. His helmet turned again towards her, he must have discovered her incomprehension.
"Do you speak English?"
His accent was difficult to place, but the pronunciation was very exact, worthy of a thespian. It startled her.
"I do."
"Where did you get this book from?"
"I've made it myself."
Nodding after another careful stare, he put the book back into the box. He closed it, just as the SUVs pulled over behind them. Looking to the side, the man issued another order in previously used exotic language, and before she realized what was happening Helena was hoisted up by the guy holding her and put into one of the SUVs.
She didn't feel the punch that knocked her out.
oOo
She came to with a start. Her head hurt. A lot.
What the hell?!
Gingerly, she tried inspecting her skull while looking around. She was in some kind of a cargo hold, hands tied in front of her with cable tie, legs taped together with duct tape, rope bound around her back and shoulders, anchoring her to the metal flooring. On her left there were two familiar SUVs, on her right some kind of pallet, obscuring her view. The floor was vibrating and from the outside she could hear roaring of an engine.
An airplane.
Eyes widening, she shifted up, crouched on her knees.
What. The. Hell.
Her chest felt like someone put a heavy weight on top, choking her. She started hyperventilating. There was no way this was happening. She broke in cold sweat. Her fingers started to tingle uncomfortably.
This can not happen to me, she chanted in her head, as if the perception of the situation could change it.
She started panicking, shaking, fidgeting restlessly with her hands. There was nowhere to run. There were enemies, men with weapons, probably just a few meters away. There was nothing she could do.
Nothing to control, except myself, she thought.
By sheer force of will she made herself calm down a notch.
You have to be calm and collected during a crisis; hysteria can come later, when it's safe.
She sat, back to the pallet, hands on her belly. Started counting her breaths, just like during meditation. First minute, sixteen breaths. Second minute, fourteen. Again, fourteen. She focused on getting back below ten breaths per minute, fixated her eyes on the watch on her left wrist. The air tasted somewhat chemical, acrid aroma of fuel mixed in it with metallic notes.
Focusing on her breathing, she missed heavy thuds of military grade boots coming closer from behind the pallet.
Her slowing heartbeat picked up again, as the Big Guy crouched before her. Her hands shot up to stop him.
"Don't," she forced herself to draw next breath slowly. "I'm having a panic attack."
He cocked his head to the side, observing her curiously, clinically almost. She went back to counting, anger strangely helping her collect herself. Maybe her body couldn't produce any more adrenaline. The pressure on her chest was still there, but her head cleared a bit.
She looked back up at the man, noting details of his appearance. He could have been some kind of soldier or mercenary, with his paramilitary getup, complete with bulletproof vest peeking out from behind his jacket. What gave her pause was the contraption on his face, clearly visible from behind the tan keffiyeh on his jaw. This is where the synthesizer for his voice must have been. Metallic grille of tubes resembled a steampunk spider attached to his face. It was hideous, but at the same time fascinating in its intricate design.
She looked the man in the eye, wishing to be back to her usual self. There was nothing to control here but her mind. So she would stay calm and collected.
At least on the outside.
"We'll be landing soon. Prepare yourself."
She sneered, earning a warning glance. "I'll go pack my things then."
He didn't gratify that with an answer, walked away unhurriedly. She looked about again, trying to decipher which way was front of the aircraft, to find best place to brace herself for the impact. Finally, she settled on holding onto the pallet, leaning on it with her legs for additional stability.
He came back again when the plane started to tip down for landing.
"Checking up on me? How sweet."
"I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed." A pause. "Brace now."
That shocked her for a second, so she almost missed the sudden drop as they flew into an air pocket on their way down.
The landing was a rough affair.
They arrived in the middle of nowhere. Before the plane settled for good, Big Guy manhandled her into the SUV, sat beside, and kept her head sideways down on the seat. She just endured, hoping the drive wouldn't be too long.
An hour in, or what felt like an hour, she shifted a bit trying to lessen the pressure on her crushed arm. The meaty hand was still on top of her head, her lipstick had to be smeared all over her face, and glasses shuffled so that they dug uncomfortably on her temple.
"Stay still."
She shot him an exasperated look.
"I see how you don't want me seeing the way to you secret lair, handsome. Still, it would be nice to regain feeling in my right hand. How about you blindfold me and let me sit straight? Would that be an acceptable compromise?"
He turned to her, grey eyes intense, leaned in dangerously close. His hand travelled from the top of her head to her neck. Squeezing gently, he squinted his eyes.
"How about you stay still and shut up."
She licked her dry lips to prepare for an answer, noticed how his gaze involuntarily shifted down. Without saying another word, she used her hips to turn to her back, arms comfortably just above her belly. The hand on her neck tightened, cutting off her air supply for two seconds.
"I've killed people for less before. Don't disobey me again."
She smiled.
That visibly surprised him a bit. He was clearly used to people fearing him and heeding his every word. But she had an advantage of ignorance in his history, plus he did kidnap her for some reason. Kept her safe during the trip, so obviously he wanted something.
Since she wasn't the most beautiful or voluptuous woman, and since he asked about the book, she suspected he might want to use her talents rather than using her body. Which gave her the courage to try and tease him.
The whole situation was ridiculous. She could be dead, raped and cut to pieces anyway, so at least she could have some fun while she still was relatively unharmed.
"Star Wars fanboy, huh? You can always spank me if choking won't cut it."
He pulled back, sitting straight.
"Impressive. Most impressive. You have controlled your fear. Now, release your anger. Only your hatred can destroy me."
His eyes crinkled, hinting at a smile. She gulped, averted her eyes, cheeks colouring with embarrassment. Didn't expect him to throw a movie reference back at her.
The contraption on his face and distorted voice made it too apt for her situation.
She chose to stay silent for the rest of the trip.
At some point Helena dozed off, lulled to sleep by gentle rocking of the car and the monotonous view of the beige ceiling. When she came to, her legs were propped up on the big guys muscular thighs, unbound. She was marginally more cozy, but still the forced position made her sore all over. She shifted, flexing muscles to ease at least some of the tension.
"We'll be there soon."
"Sweet," she sighed. The question where was 'there' bounced in her head. "Thank you for straightening my legs. I appreciate that." It was still damn miserable, but she realized he could have her trussed up like a Sunday roast, if he chose to transport her that way.
"You're welcome," he nodded and shot her a short, amused look.
"What? Manners don't cost anything."
"Indeed they don't."
Car stopped a minute later, and the big guy hauled her none too gently out of it, his hand on her back. For a few seconds she was awkwardly sitting on his lap. As soon as her feet touched the ground she looked around curiously. First thing she noticed was his hand, still at her back. He barked something in that exotic language, pushing her forward.
Other SUVs flanked them, men spilling out, dragging along women with a child from one of the vehicles. They were all ushered towards the closest doorway. Before they got in, Helena glanced back, trying to understand layout of the place she was at.
Cars stood almost in the middle of a courtyard, surrounded by walls that looked like medieval battlements. To one side was a standalone building, a church presumably, to the other were two long halls resembling elaborate service pavilions. Over everything stretched a towering silhouette of a mountain.
They were hurdled then to individual cells, and closed there. Helena peeked around. One wall was replaced by jail style bars and door, two others carved from solid stone led to last wall with a tiny window. From the looks of it, it must have been at least half a meter thick. Under the window was a little stool with pitcher of water, beside that - a simple cot. That was it. Corridor outside her cell was occupied by a strolling guard, lazily chatting with a friend somewhere.
Again, the language was unknown to her.
She resigned herself to waiting. There was a reason she was here.
Just what in hell was it?
oOo
It got dark. There was a light on the corridor, but it was flimsy and weak, so her eyes got tired. Adrenaline rush ended a while back, and since she had few hours to mull over what happened, she felt drained.
The whole incident was random. She didn't have enough data to understand what could happen next, so she settled for taking care of her most basic needs first.
"Hey!", she called to the guard as he passed by. He stared at her a little startled. "I need to go to the bathroom."
No response. He turned and marched away.
She hung her head in defeat, sat back on the mattress. A day of stress had her sticky with sweat and uncomfortable with the state of her bladder. And she was hungry.
Ok, there is nothing to do. Wait. Meditate. Sleep, she feebly tried to persuade herself.
She sat on folded legs on the bed. Some time passed, as she tried to meditate, her consciousness coming and going. At one point she zeroed in her hearing on thud of purposeful steps. They got closer and closer, subconsciously reminding her of someone.
She sat still as it dawned on her there could be only one person here whose stride her ears were remotely accustomed to.
He came to the guards, chatting unhurriedly. She tried to focus on any words that might sound familiar, syntax patterns that could help her unravel where she was. She was almost sure she heard some Russian, but overall was quite sure the main language was different.
She was at a loss.
The conversation died after a few minutes, heavy footfalls resonated away.
Her back relaxed a bit.
She may have acted cool and indifferent while observed by the guards, but once the main lights in the corridor went off and the compound settled for the night, Helena let herself ponder on her situation.
The reality of being kidnapped seemed easy to digest at first. Playful banter came to her naturally, like second skin. Like a mask she could hide behind. Her reactions on the plane were purely hysterical, so she absolved herself instantly of any responsibility and possible outcomes. Being here now, though, put an uncomfortable strain on her chest. A weight constricting her lungs, one she knew intimately from last months of her marriage. It seemed inconsequential at first, but when you noticed it, it grew. Sheer realization of the cause of it, all of the consequences her mind raced to… All of it simultaneously made her want to run away and bury under the covers to just sleep the whole ordeal away.
Speaking of sleep - she couldn't get any rest. Leftover adrenaline coursed through her for so long, now she couldn't even settle down. Tired she was, of course. Only, lying on the mattress seemed unwise, somehow. What if someone would come for her? She wanted to be ready, or at least appear that way; she wanted to show them she was a worthy adversary. Even if only psychologically.
Wars were won in minds of the strategists, right?
So she paced away through her first night on the mercenary compound.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, when the air hung in wispy tendrils of fog close to the ground, she heard again thud of measured steps cutting through the monotonous noises of the compound. Closer and closer.
Helena stopped her pacing. Shoulders tensed with anticipation, she waited, shifted down to sit cross legged on her cot.
The emergency light from the corridor dimmed, as broad back blocked it from entering her cell.
"We haven't got a chance at proper introduction," he said, threaded his fingers through the bars, dwarfing the entire wall. He didn't seem to mind the darkness, his eyes alert, focused on her. One hand straightened towards her, palm ready for a handshake. "Bane."
Almost involuntarily, she stood up, legs slowly unfurling from under her buttocks, and strode towards him.
"Helena. I'm a scribe. You?" Her palm was still in his firm grip, along with her other hand hanging limply by, since they were still tied up together.
"Mercenary." He studied lines on her skin, tracing them with his thumb.
Deciphering his intentions seemed impossible. He obviously wasn't interested in her, yet he wasn't eager to let go. Seemed like he liked power play, or manipulation. Or both.
"Go figure."
"You are alarmingly insightful." He must have smiled behind the mask.
Helena couldn't stop her lips from curling up.
"I would like to acquire your services. "
She scoffed. "As it happens it seems I'm rather tied up at the moment." Fingers of her dangling hand waved at him tellingly.
It was his turn to raise eyebrows. "That can be easily remedied."
"Oh fantastic." She twisted her palm, so that it was his paw in loose grip of both her hands. He seemed amused. "I would have you know, I don't endeavour into business negotiations until I'm wholly comfortable with the other party."
His demeanour changed instantly. "It's a limited time offer."
"Then how could I refuse?" She gave him her best smile.
Above joined hands both fixed each other with an icy stare.