Blitzed (42 page)

T
he first thing
I was aware of was a splitting headache. The second was cold. Bone-chilling cold, the type of which we never got in France except in the mountains.

"What the hell . . .?” I asked, blinking my eyes. I could have been blind, but I doubted it. I waited a few minutes, and could see just a single pinprick of light in the upper left corner of my vision, so at least I wasn't blind. I blinked and made sure the light wasn't a hallucination. It wasn't. My sense of gravity came back, and I could tell I was lying on my back, although I couldn't hear anything.

I tried moving my hand, and I found I could block the light in the corner of my vision. Turning my head was painful, so I kept my head where it was. "Francois?" I croaked into the still, chill air.

Only silence greeted me, so I lay still, hoping the pain in my head would diminish enough that I could think clearly. I was obviously inside something, I could sense that. What, I didn't know, but I was lying on a hard, smooth surface. I was still wearing clothes, but they weren't enough for this kind of cold. It was chilly enough that I swore it felt like I was lying down in a meat locker.

At least I was alive. Memories came back to me slowly, and I still felt like there were some holes. I remembered the warehouse in Calais, and walking up to the Quonset hut. I opened the door and went in, and after that, all was blank until just now.

After a while I thought I could at least sit up, but I started slowly, rolling to my side and then pulling my knees underneath me, letting blood pool in my head to keep my thought processes as strong as possible. The pain increased, but not by too much, so I sat up, leaning over in a cross-legged position with my elbows on my splayed knees in order to let some of the dizziness fade away.

I was starting to think about trying to get to my feet when I heard footsteps outside whatever I was in. Instead of moving, I leaned back, trying to give myself the best ability to listen and think. It's an under-appreciated skill and one that was of vital importance for whatever I found myself in at the moment. A door rattled in front of me and opened, slate gray light filtering in. It was still blinding, and I shaded my eyes to try and diminish the dazzle.

"Ah, you’re awake. That's good — that’s very good."

I couldn't place the voice, but I could place the accent. Russian, perhaps Lithuanian. "Yeah. Do you have any aspirin?" I attempted, but I figured it was futile.

The voice came back, and I thought it belonged to a man, but maybe a very deep-voiced woman too. A shape moved in the light as the dazzle faded from my eyes, and I saw that my first impression was correct. A dapper man, maybe about sixty years old or so, wearing a slim fitting suit that looked Italian in design, but the horrific smell of the tobacco wafting in told me he was certainly from the Russian sphere of the world. The Russians never have learned how to make tobacco that didn't smell like burning sweat-socks. "Aspirin? Very funny, Felix. You should have gone into comedy instead of following in your father's footsteps."

The man stepped closer, letting in more light, and I could see some more of my surroundings. We were in a shipping container, but one that had been converted at least slightly. The floor had been covered in thick plywood, and there was minimal insulation on the walls. Considering the thick layer of snow on the hills in the narrow bit of vision I saw through the door, I was grateful. "Thanks, but it wasn’t really a joke. Who are you, and what's going on?"

"Twenty-nine years ago, your father took from Russia something that was considered very valuable. A golden crown supposedly passed to the Romani by the Great Kahn himself. While the Gypsies were unable to hold onto it, no fault of theirs to be sure, but for nearly fifty years it rested within the secure possession of the Soviet Union, and later the Russian federation. You know of this crown, yes?"

"Of course I do," I said. "It's
my
damn crown. Really, though, it's not as impressive as you make it out to be. It's not pure gold or anything. I don't even wear it or keep it with me, it stays at a family stronghold for safe keeping. And no, you can't have it."

The man shrugged. "That is neither here nor there for me. I don’t so much care about the trinket as I do the damage it caused me and my family."

"How so? No offense, but you don't look like you're a suffering man." I shifted around on the pallet I was sitting on, measuring the distance from the man to me, and wondering if I could get past him. I doubted it, he looked like the sort of guy who'd have a lot of security waiting outside just in case I tried something. "Besides, that was my father's work, not mine."

"Still. The man who was in charge of securing that facility, the one your father broke into and escaped, he had a family. Three children, two boys and a girl. After the humiliation of his failure, even though he was the only person to ever shoot the great Guillaume Hardy, he lost his job and his ability to put food on his family's table. Despondent, like too many Russian men, he turned to the cheap comfort of vodka. Within two years, he was a hopeless alcoholic, his children suffering while his wife tried her best to continue to keep them fed and clothed. If it wasn't for the fact that I loved my sister very, very much, her children would have starved in the winter of 1998."

"I'm guessing you’re the rich uncle of the family," I said. "Since you know my name and my father's, I can also assume that you didn't get that money through legitimate ways."

"What the rest of the world calls legitimate, men like us call boring," the man replied with a laugh. "In the aftermath of the breakup of the Soviet Union, I was able to find myself in an opportune position within the Ukraine. While there were harsh feelings against those like me who are of Russian descent, the Ukrainians needed what I had access to, especially Soviet military hardware that could give them the ability to resist those who would try to take advantage of the new nation's position on the Black Sea. So yes, my business isn’t the type that receives Humanitarian Of The Year awards from the local Lion's Club. Ironically, if I did this with government connections within the United States, I could have been elected Vice President at some point."

I rolled my eyes at the tired old joke. I didn't give a damn about American politics beyond how it directly affected my life and my people. "So what now? Obviously you're pissed off at me, which is why I find myself in a cargo container in what I can assume is Ukraine. But you don't want to kill me. I mean, why go to all the trouble and expense to bring me here from France just to shoot me? And where the hell is my brother?"

The man leaned his head back and started laughing like I'd just said the funniest thing in the world. He laughed for a long time before calming down, wiping at the corners of his eyes. "Oh, Felix, I don't want to kill you. No, not at all. Instead, I plan on changing you. Your father took a crown, I'm giving them a king to be their servant."

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Good fucking luck. I serve no man."

"Of course not, I wouldn't demean you to serve a man," my captor said. "You will serve my niece instead. And you won't have a choice."

"I'd rather die," I said, and the man laughed.

"You still think you will have a choice in the matter. No, Felix, you won’t. Since you’re going to not care about this later anyway, let me tell you what’s going to happen. You’ll be crafted, in the ways started under the Soviets but perfected by others since then. Your will and your personality will be remolded into the image and shape that I choose. You’ll serve my niece, and in fact, you’ll love her completely. You will be her loyal, willing puppy dog. You will be happy to scrub her toilets, or to lie at the foot of her bed and guard her in her sleep. You’re a handsome man, well proportioned, she may even want to use you as her living, breathing sex toy. Only then, after you’re completely in her thrall, will she make the choice if you’re to live or die. It’s of no concern to me."

I shook my head. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" he asked. "There’s been advancements in chemistry, brain pattern recognition, and other sciences that most people are not even aware of, or if they are, they don’t know how to put together the different pieces for maximum effect. I happen to know men who do. And if you think that you’re going to be rescued by your brother, or even if you’re wondering about him, don't. Who do you think sold you out to me anyway?"

I felt my mouth drop open, unable to hide my shock at the simple truth in his voice. My captor stepped back and smirked. "Don’t worry, Felix. Soon enough, all of this will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory to you anyway."

The door closed, and I heard the latch shut, sealing me in. In the inky black darkness, the next sound filled my heart with fear, as the light hissing sound of gas being released into the container came to my ears, and my eyelids started to droop. I fought it as hard as I could, but it was irresistible. My last thought was only that I had to hold onto something because I had to get back to Jordan.

I
n the four
days since Francois came back from Calais, I hadn't done much more than cry, sleep, and cry again. Francois came back, shaken up and his eyes haunted, telling me that they'd been double crossed. "One of them pulled a gun, and Felix pushed me out the door, trying to protect me. I ran for the car, hoping he would follow. I was halfway across the parking lot when the bullets . . .”

I had been unable to focus, and Francois drove us back to Valence, telling Charani and Syeira when we got back. Syeira had clothed herself in black, her body seeming to shrink as the days passed. I hardly noticed, depression washing over me every time I came out of sleep. The dreams were better. At least there, my Felix was still with me, holding my hand as we talked about our futures, about his leaving the life of crime or the possibility of having children. I saw myself growing older, but not caring as long as my Felix was with me, father to my children and nourisher of my soul. In my dreams, I didn't have to think about life without him.

The morning of the fifth day, I woke up to find Charani seated on the edge of my bed, a concerned look on her face. "You can’t stay in bed forever."

"Go away please,” I groaned, trying to roll over. It scared me slightly when I realized I was so weak from lack of food and water that I couldn't even do that. I thought back, and realized it’d been at least two days since I'd eaten or drank anything. "I just want to die."

"No you don't," she said softly, laying a hand on my shoulder. "It hurts, we’re all in pain, but you can’t give up. Francois needs you more than ever."

At the mention of Francois, I found the strength to open my eyes again.

"Oh, he won't say it, he's a man. His pride won’t let him admit any weakness, anything but the strength he thinks he needs to display with the position he’s now thrust into. He thinks he has to be some sort of Titan for you, for me, and for Syeira. But he’s just a man, and he needs you with him."

"And how am I to do that?" I rasped, my throat dry as the desert. "He leaves me alone."

"Because he doesn’t know how to help you grieve, nor does he even know how to grieve himself," Charani replied. "So you must be strong and go to him. Come, you don’t have to do it alone."

I tried sitting up, and failed miserably. "Help . . . please."

Charani shook her head. "Stay there, but stay awake. I will be back shortly."

I lay on my side, trying after three attempts to roll onto my back. I could feel the bed underneath me cold and wet, and I wondered if it was sweat, tears, or if I was so weak I'd pissed the bed without knowing it.

Charani came back in, holding a bowl of soup. "Stay there, just sip," she said, sitting back down. Setting the bowl aside for a moment, she picked my head up and slid a pillow underneath me, letting me recline. "Now, slow sips, just swallow."

Spoon by spoon over the next hour, she fed me sips of the warm broth. There wasn't much in it, just a basic chicken broth, but it helped. I could taste the bullion cubes and the natural fats in the broth which gave me a bit of energy. "After this, I will help you wash," she soothed, helping with a dribble that escaped my lips. "Then you’ll go to Francois when he gets home."

"Where is he?" I asked, my voice stronger than before. "I thought he’d be here."

"He’s in town," Charani said. "The other members of our tribal group, they’re having a meeting. While by tradition Francois should take over, it’s not assured."

"Why not?" I asked.

Charani sighed. "When my father died, it was already a bit contentious. Felix was so young for such a position, and while the Romani respect the family tradition, there’s also reality. If he hadn’t had such a history of serious study and reflection, he might not have been made King."

"Francois doesn’t have such a reputation," I said. "He's been trying to garner his own."

"Which is problematic," Charani replied. "A few years ago, he would have never have been allowed to ascend. Now though, he’s older, there is a chance."

I took another spoonful of soup, and thought. “Would it be so bad if he wasn't? I know it’d be a blow to his pride, but would it be so bad?"

Charani shrugged. "I look at it this way. I know that Felix’s decision to leave the profession was something you liked. If Francois is made King, he’ll be too busy being both King and husband to be a thief. Would that not be a safer?"

I nodded in agreement. "What about Syeira?"

“I’ll take care of my sister, I’ve been with her since birth. You worry about my son," Charani replied. She spooned the last of the soup into my mouth. "How do you feel?"

"Shattered, sad, but better than I was an hour ago," I said. "But who do I turn to when I need strength?"

"You can turn to my sister and I. We’ll be ready when you need us. But first, lets get you cleaned up." She smiled and set the bowl aside, stroking my hair. I smiled back, knowing that while Charani wasn't the woman who gave birth to me, she was more than filling in admirably.

"None taken. Now, how about you help me up and to the shower?"

* * *

T
he night sky
was filled with stars when Francois came home, his face tense and his eyes haunted. Closing the door behind him, his face immediately brightened when he saw me sitting at the dining room table, freshly scrubbed and freshly clothed. I greeted him with the best smile I could. "Welcome home."

Saying nothing, his eyes brimming with emotion and relief, Francois picked me up from the chair, holding me to his chest in a tender embrace. I felt feather light, and let him hold me silently. Charani and Syeira watched for a few seconds, then left the kitchen area. "I missed you."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I know that you’re grieving your brother as much as I am. Probably even more."

"That’s beside the point," Francois replied, saying nothing else as he continued to hold me in his arms. Carrying me gently, he took me into the living room area, setting me down on the couch. "My only concern this whole time has been your health. Each day I watched as you wasted away further, and I didn't know what I could do to help you. I’m not so good in emotional situations, but I’ll learn. I was feeling like I would lose you too."

"You won’t. So what’s the news?” I asked, changing the subject. I’d stepped on a scale earlier, after being frightened by the image of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “It’s good I hope.”

"Nothing official yet,” Francois said with a small shake of his head. "But they’re coming around. The knowledge that I have you is helping, in fact. The other men, they feel like me being in a relationship somehow shows I’ve matured."

"I don't know how you were before, but I can say that you’re more than ready to do what needs to be done," I said. "Francois . . .”

"I know," he answered, reading the emotions in my eyes. "I miss him too. We’ll have a memorial ceremony as soon as the vote is completed. That should be in a day or two. I’ll shed my tears there. For now, I’ve got a lot to do, regardless of the final verdict. I also have a very serious question for you, Jordan."

"Yes, Francois?" I asked, suddenly nervous. His face was so serious and composed, there was none of the good humor or twinkle that I had come to expect from him. Felix's death had changed him, and I wondered if that good-natured Francois, the daring one who had somehow convinced me to have sex in the middle of a forest would ever return. "What is it?"

"Do you still want to be my wife?" he asked, setting me down and taking my hands. "I know it’d be different from if Felix was still here, but my feelings for you are the same. I can’t imagine a future without you."

I blinked, relief washing over me unexpectedly. Had I actually thought that Francois wouldn't want me still? “Of course, my love. I need you more than ever.”

He bent his head, looking down and blinking before looking up at me, his eyes glistening. "When you are recovered, and our tears are shed, we’ll talk about that more. For now though, let’s have dinner. You look like you need it.”