A/N: Hello! Long time no see. I missed you guys, hope you missed me. Please comment below for a speedier update! ALMOST DONE WITH THIS FF!
"Don't look down, Anya!"
Anya placed her feet steadily on the tightrope below her. She kept her eyes fixed on the figure in the white dress in front of her; her mother.
"I'm coming, ma!"
Her voice sounded young and childish. She smiled, squinting as she tried to distinguish the blur that was her mother's face. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't...it was as if there was a veil, hiding all her features.
"I'm almost there, ma!"
"Don't look down, dear!"
Anya found her gaze shifting downwards. She froze; below her, there were monsters. Men, in suits and sunglasses, with pale faces that rarely felt the sun. They smiled at her, and she felt her stomach twist at the look of recognition in their eyes. She felt herself losing balance.
"Anya!"
The voice had changed. She looked up, and Tintin was looking back at her.
"Tintin?" Her mother had disappeared into the mist.
"Anya, don't be afraid. I'll protect you. Just come closer."
She took a step forward, trembling. Tintin's face was bright and hopeful. Almost unaware of the monsters below.
"Come on!"
She took another step, but Tintin didn't look any closer than before. She reached for him, in a desperate attempt, and found herself falling. The monsters howled in delight as she crashed down, and she cried out as they closed in on top of her.
Beep-Beep. Beep-beep.
The sharp light from above stung. Anya turned her head, wincing. She felt something like cotton press against her cheek. She felt like she had never left her bed in the Underground, back in Belgium. I almost wish this was all a dream. She thought of Tintin, and winced. Well, not everything. After a few minutes, she made an effort to sit up. Something ached in her arm as she did so, and she turned to see multiple cords and devices fastened to her skin. She traced the trail of cords back to a screen, with a green line, that jumped every other second in a rhythmic pattern. This looks like a hospital. Odd.
She pressed her fingers against her neck, the faint thumping of her heart moving with the little green line on the screen.
"Hello?"
The echo of her voice was the only response to her call. She studied her surroundings. The room was small and slightly depressing; the voidness of windows and concrete walls was very familiar to her. She noticed a plate of food sitting on the bedside tray; it looked like it was still warm. I suppose if they wanted to kill me, they would have already. She decided to eat.
The food wasn't anything particularly unpleasant, but it certainly wasn't enjoyable. Much like the room. The faint sound of footsteps from outside the room announced the man that walked in and sat down, glancing at Anya only once. He checked the devices that hooked onto her, and then unceremoniously pulled them off. Anya's mind wandered as she rubbed her blotchy wrists..
"Where am I?"
The man didn't answer, turning his back to her. He was writing something down, but she couldn't be sure what.
"Excuse me?"
Nothing.
"You wouldn't care to tell me why I'm here, would you?"
The man turned sharply upon her, and she flinched.
"Forgive me for being blunt, but I cannot. There are a lot of people pursuing you right now."
Anya struggled to comprehend, suddenly wary of saying too much.
"I...I don't understand who you mean, sir."
"Perhaps you are more valuable than you think."
He tucked his pencil behind his ear and his pad into his pocket.
"Come."
Anya pulled the covers off of her and stood, feeling a chill through the hospital gown she wore. The cement floor was cold and unforgiving; Anya walked gingerly over what felt like glass shards and rock. The doctor lead her down a few passages, then finally through a side door. She could hear the soft rhythm of a conversation, or perhaps a speech. The doctor instructed her to wait as he continued down the narrow hall, flicking a torch on as he vanished into the shadows. Anya came nearer to the sound; she flinched as something touched her cheek. It was soft; she suddenly became aware of the grand curtain that hung between her and the mystery sound. She crouched down and lifted the heavy gather, but no light came forth. She felt like she was drowning in darkness, and she would go mad without the light.
"...We must strive to keep the sinfulness of the world from us. Those who stand in our way, must be put to rest. We are one step away from building a great nation."
The chill one gets when they thought they were alone but realize they have been within company is unpleasant. When Anya saw the huge theatre of people, sitting just a few paces behind the curtain, her heart almost shriveled up with fear. They sat as still as zombies, their faces alight with a greyish glow. A screen was set above them, but Anya was too close to it to be able to see who was speaking. The voice was familiar. She pulled herself back out into the dark passageway.
/*/*/*
Tintin had been able to borrow a car. Borrow may be a strong word, but in any case, he felt only a step behind the cab that stole away with Anya into the night.
Anya.
He felt a rush of indignation every time he thought of that night. Like something valuable had been snatched from his hands. More or less, he felt like he wouldn't be able to rest until he knew she was alright.
Haddock was asleep in the passenger seat; the long hours of searching had taken a toll on him. It couldn't be much longer until they saw something….
Haddock grumbled as he tried to adjust in his seat. Tintin frowned.
"Comfortable?"
"Oh...er...I thought we might take sleep shifts, eh? Not like we are going to find anything -quickly, that is- in this place."
"You don't need to pet me, Captain. I understand; you don't fancy chasing after a girl, who has no relation to you."
Haddock flushed slightly.
"Now, Tintin, I-"
"I can drop you off back at the opera house. Perhaps Madame Bianca can situate you-"
"No, no, I insist you and I keep looking."
He paused. "She must be very important to you."
Tintin didn't respond to that; he wasn't sure he trusted himself to answer.
Suddenly, there was movement in the darkness of the shadow of a bookstore. Tintin motioned to Haddock, slowly turning the wheel, hand over hand. He crept forward a few paces, then flicked on the lights. A man flinched as he was brought to light, dashing away. Tintin slammed on the gas, while Haddock swore vehemently.
"What in tarnation are you doing?! You'll kill him!"
Tintin set his jaw, not slowing. At the last moment, he twisted the wheels in the opposite direction, slamming on the brakes. The car swerved in front of the man, bumping into the building.
"Haddock, grab him!"
Haddock took advantage of the man's shock and tore after him, seizing him by the collar as if he were a schoolboy.
"He's not wearing a suit. Shouldn't he be wearing a suit?"
Tintin's face was as still as stone as he approached them.
"Tell us where they took her."
The man feigned defiance, though his hands were shaking. Tintin grabbed the man by the collar, jerking him up.
"Tell me!"
The man sputtered; underneath his worn jacket Tintin saw a fresh, clean shirt.
"Th...you...you're the one they warned us about…"
"Who? Who?"
"The reporter...don't hurt me...I don't know where they took 'er…"
"More likely they'll kill you if you told us," Haddock muttered. He patted down the man's pockets, and pulled a gun out of his pocket. A slip of paper fell to the pavement; Tintin leaned over to pick it up.
"What's this?"
The man had a murderous look in his eyes now, and he lunged for the paper. Tintin held it back.
"Haddock, lock him in the car. I'll deal with this."
Underneath the light of a lampost, Tintin read the number that was scribbled across one side of the paper.
N591UA.
The number of the plane. And on the other side, Mudder, blue hat, 9-4 Blueberry. Tontie, limp, 15-19 Carmen. Bananer, beggar, 19-24 Ernest.
It looked like a puzzle, like any other, that could be solved. Tintin tucked the paper into his pocket.
"I believe we have a lead, captain."
/
Two hundred-one, two, three, four, five...
Anya counted her steps as she was lead away. There was no sense of direction here, and she couldn't see past the blindfold, in any case.
"Where are we going?"
Her voice was tight and feathery.
"That's en'uff," grumbled one of her escorts. They turned a few more corners and finally came into a room. Anya heard the door shut behind them. The air felt cooler here.
"We have the girl."
"Sit her down. Anya, is it?"
"Who's asking?"
She felt one of the men's hands close around her throat at her retort. As if it was a reflex.
"Enough!"
The snarling voice made all three of them flinch. Anya heard the two men stumble back and exit the room. The man speaking rose slowly from his chair with a shuffle.
"Please, Miss Anya, refer to me as...Vandertramp, for now. Would you like anything to drink? I'm afraid we don't have anything warm or cold, just some lemonade or water, but I'm sure either would be just as nice."
"I'm not thirsty," she muttered around dry lips.
"Something to eat, then. We have food."
"No thanks."
The man paused. "You're quite stubborn, I can tell. Just like your father."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"What do you know about my father?"
"Oh, more than you think, my dear. You see, we are both businessmen, your father and I."
"My father is nothing like me."
"He must care much for you. He wants to pay a great sum of money, for you to return to Belgium. Untouched."
Vandertramp shuffled over to her. Something smooth and hard was placed in her hand.
"Does this feel familiar?"
Her fingers trembled as she touched the object. The diamond.
"Wh-what does he want with me?"
The question caused more pain than she anticipated, and she could feel herself tense up like a board. Isn't this what she had dreamed of, for years? For her father, for anyone, to value and love her? For her father to send her this prized possession meant...maybe underneath all that anger, the beatings, he did love her.
"Your father wants you, Anya. He has purchased your life."
As much as she wanted to believe it, she knew it couldn't be so. Her head and her heart were clashing, and she felt weak. She remembered Tintin's face when she told him about her father.
"No. He wants my mother. He wants my silence. He never wanted me."
She let the diamond fall to the cement ground. Her chest ached as it left her hands.
"He's making you send me back, isn't he? He wants me under his control."
The man seemed to have evaporated into the air. Anya began to believe he did, until his hands seized her face violently.
"You think you know what you're talking about. Think you're clever. You better be damn sure about the decision you make, because I'll break you."
She clenched her teeth to keep herself in one piece.
"You want something from me, other than the diamond. Tell me."
A pause. He made a noise, a guttural grunt.
"I believe you already know what I want. No one will know if you tell me about your father's organisation...and I have much wealth to offer you."
"I won't take your drug money. Or sex trafficking revenue. And who's to say you won't tell my father once there's an ocean between us?"
"...You're not an easy one to persuade. It doesn't surprise me that you were raised in the mafia."
A match was struck. An inhale. Anya smelled tobacco.
"I want information on that reporter...Tintin."
Her heart beat a little faster.
"I would nev-"
"The diamond is yours if you tell me. Just tell me, say, what he's been doing this past month...with you. I wouldn't touch him if you did."
She hated herself for considering. Tintin's efforts would be lost if she opened her mouth, but that diamond meant so much to her. She could make a new life, wherever she wanted. She could go to school.
"You need to think about it, I understand."
Which part of me should I listen to? The diamond? Tintin wouldn't get hurt if I chose the latter…
He scooped the diamond off of the floor.
"It's a ridiculous offer, really. The boy or the treasure? Surely you can't see a future with him, dear…"
She remembered feeling safe around him, lavishing his company, but how could it last? He said himself that he would go to Belgium without her. No, she thought. It could never last. But as much as she saw the logic, she couldn't make her mouth say the words. I wouldn't choose him.
'I don't want to forget you.'
"I won't let you sabotage him."
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed along the silent cement room. She felt some kind of strength spring from acceptance, and some of her fear retreated. The man stood, and she heard a final, deep intake of tobacco.
"Is that your final decision?"
"Yes. And tell my father to...to go to hell!"
"You can tell him yourself; he's right here."
Fear. Anya realized she had been tricked, and she paled at the thought of the consequences, at the thought of hearing his voice again.
I've told you about loyalty to the mafia, loyalty above everything else. All traitors deserve death. We are one step away from building a great nation.
She felt nauseous. The voice that had sounded so familiar back in the theatre, had it been him? Was it not the voice, even, that was familiar but the words?
"I'll give you anything you want, Anya. Just tell me."
The simplicity of her father's words was terrifying. Her response was weak.
"I want to be free. I want to leave the mafia behind."
"You know too much, Anya; be realistic, now."
"Please. I won't say anything."
"You've already left a trail of information behind you, Anya."
"The...the planes. Explain them. The American planes you have in Belgium."
"They're just planes. Who told you they were American?"
"You must use them to fly in U.S. territory. What are you exporting?"
"Anya, stop."
"I know you got into the business selling drugs, Father. That's why mother didn't want to be with you anymore. You were desperate to support a family. It's not my fault. Nothing was ever my fault. Nothing…."
Silence. She tensed, terrified that a hand would lunge for her throat again, a knife would deal her a final blow.
A thin hand on her shoulder made her flinch.
"Stand up."
She obeyed silently. The door opened, footsteps, more footsteps, the sound of glass….
She was walking now, the door to the room and her father closing behind her. The figure that lead her to her fate was silent, light on his feet. After some time, the concrete under her turned to smooth tile, and the smell of laundry detergent hung in the air. She was placed in a dense space, and the sound of metal clanging indicated her capture, again.
"You will see the boss again in two days. No food or water."
He left. Anya pulled the blindfold off, throwing it to the ground. Her eyes hurt in the dusky light. She stumbled to the gate.
"You'll never get him! Never!"
Her voice bounced off the walls, mocking her.
"Never!"
Never.
She slipped down the wall, murmuring to herself. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she fought the urge to sob. She fell asleep with her head against stone and her heart against a wall.