Flaws: Vedmykiv

[15] A Nobody

THE GUARD GOT UP and kicked me, shouting something again. I didn't need a translation to understand that I had to shut up. Just like I didn't need a translation to understand she was the one. There was no point in lying to myself anymore. But I got caught, and I was going to die, probably in this very same room I had been moved to an hour or two ago. It looked like a back office used for storage, nowhere near the kitchen. I hoped my Barbie doll was safe, but I feared the worst, the very worst for her, and it was all my fault.

A small window informed me it was still daylight. Boxes piled up against the walls. Crates of liquor were stacked on the side. I didn't know where Igor was, if he was still stuffed in the closet, getting tortured, or if he was even alive. Was I next, or will they just put a bullet in my head and throw me in the dumpster instead? We were prisoners of an unsanctioned, clandestine operation that no one had sent us on. We were two stupid amateurs, and one of them wasn't even in for the right reasons. I had screwed up. Unless Igor was really well connected, had enough money for the both of us, however unlikely we could ransom our way out, or somehow had backup I hadn't heard of before, we were going to get killed, of that there was no doubt. The worst part was that no one knew where I was or what I was doing with my life. I was like the newspaper folded in half on the old desk where the two guards sat. One played with his phone.

"I thought it was all coal and ore," I had said to Igor on one of our treks through the trails. Maybe it was during the second hike. I remember because, with the evergreens behind and the many fields we passed, he stopped walking to look at me, and he sighed:

"Underground, of course. Above ground is rich soil full of chernozems. It's Russian word actually. It means black earth. Remember, Ukraine was breadbasket of Soviet Union. They have most fertile soil. Maybe that is also reason."

"So whichever direction you throw a rock..."

"Now you are not so ignorant anymore."

I don't know why that memory came to my mind. Maybe because I hadn't realized how patient he had been with me, maybe because I had the feeling that I was about to die. Strange things happen when you're about to die, like this realization that I wasn't as worried about what they would do to me as I was about him, Igor, his wife, his family. He wasn't coming back. They will miss him. I'd like to think Lillian would miss me. That hurt too.

A limp body was dragged in when the door opened. They dumped it on the floor. I shook Igor, but he didn't respond. I kicked his feet with mine, but that didn't work. As long as I remained on the ground, the guards focused on their game or peeking at the perky boobs inside the club. I kept thinking about the Barbie doll. I still couldn't pronounce her name. One guard turned to look when I crawled to Igor's side. He grunted but returned to his game. Igor had a pulse. His face and hands were bloody and bruised. He looked worse than I did. I leaned against the wall, placed his head on my lap, and stayed there until the night.

I could see it now. I had been so afraid for so long. So many feelings inside me frightened me. Some brought me shame. I had put myself above others for too long with the terrible actions I had chosen to do. Strangely, nothing they could do to me scared me anymore. I deserved some. I could only hope for a swift blow to the forehead and be done with this life. If I were going to die, if I were going to die screaming, begging, and pleading, at least I would not die ignorant of who I was. My flaws, my mistakes, they were mine to bear.

The guards tidied up their table and put away their game right after someone radioed them. One stood guard on one side of the door while the one who had kicked me opened it. A paramilitary man entered. His cold stare would have been frightening enough had it not been accompanied by the sociopathic look I remembered and, with it, the prospect of that violent death my destiny craved. The two guards behind him wore balaclavas. I never imagined I would see him again. He had grown a beard, but he had the same fiercely focused eyes that gave me chills and a deep voice that I would have liked to think was the real reason Oxana tossed and turned at night with her legs on top of mine. He had a nightmarish air about him. He entered with the expeditious arrogance of someone rising through the ranks fast. The captain tried to hide his excitement when he recognized me. "Mr. Photographer," he said. Who is your new friend?"