Red, White and Black

Dance with the Devil

Someone barked an order in Russian from outside the door. Of course, I didn't know exactly what they said, but the tone was enough to convey intent. I shifted from laying on the bed to sitting as the door was opened. The guards entered first, shifting to either side of the door with their guns trained on me like I was some kind of serious threat.

I waited, watching as they watched me. Hopefully I was going to find out why I had been brought to this particular base.

The men straightened as footsteps echoed down the hallway beyond the cell door. Judging by the way the guards treated the man who entered, I guessed he was the commander of this particular base.  The commander stopped  between the two guards as his dark eyes regarded me. He barked another order and when I didn't react, one of the guards moved closer and poked at me with his rifle.

I yelped in surprise and stood quickly, rubbing my ribs, "I don't speak Russian."

"You would do well to learn." The man spoke in English.

He snapped his fingers and one of the guards ducked out of the room and returned with a bag. Which was immediately shoved at me. I pulled out the bundle of clothes and stared at them, every piece of clothing was white.

When my eyes rose to the commander he said something in Russian. Which I don't understand and so I don't move. The same guard pokes me hard with the barrel of his gun, sharp and harder than before.

"I don't know what you want me to do." I ground out through the pain.

"Get dressed." He repeated in English.

Hesitating, I let my eyes trail over the three men watching me, not wanting to change in front of them. When I don't move fast enough, the commander steps forward and back hands me. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. Taking the hint, I reached down and stripped my clothes off, pulling out the new clothes and slipping them on.

At least the clothes are soft against my skin as I stand waiting to see what happens next. The commander turns and strodes out of the cell. One of the guards wraps his large hand around my bicep as he yanks me along down the hall to follow.

I wince a little as my toes scrape against the rough cold stone floor under my feet. They hadn't deemed it necessary to give me shoes. Through hallways, past countless rooms, down what seemed like hundreds of stairs they led me.

Finally, we were outside a metal door. The commander bangs on the door once and there was a low buzz and he gripped my arm and led me into the gloomy room. Looking over my shoulder I watched the two guards take up position on either side of the door but not walk through it. Then it swung shut and there was a snick of locks.

Another barked command and a low glow of a single light bulb in the middle of the room flicks on. There is a man sitting on a stool just at the edge of the circle of light, face cloaked in shadow and his hair falling over his face as he sits with his head bowed.

The commander speaks a string of Russian and the man responds. His responses are short and the entire time he continues to stare at the floor, his arms resting on his legs. As their conversation or whatever it is they are doing continues, I become aware of a faint dripping sound.

Looking for the source I let my eyes travel around the room. My eyes adjust to the gloom and as they do things come into focus. This room is some kind of cell, even more bleak compared to mine. There is just the stool, a metal toilet in one corner and a bench. There isn't any kind of cot or bed to be seen.

The commander wraps his hand around my bicep suddenly, shoving me towards the man. For the first time his face lifts and his steel blue eyes settle on me. They hold nothing, devoid of any emotion. The cold eyes of a predator. My heart slams into my throat as I recognize them. The eyes of the monster that took my life from me. The one who brought me to the people who now held me captive. I knew I would never forget those eyes as long as I lived.