Looking For A Legend (Book 1)

Looking For A Legend Chapter 12 - Valentina

            Valentina spent the evening in, while Billy and Leibe went out to a concert.  She was invited, of course, but Valentina was behind on her translation of Tracker’s survival diary.  She didn’t realize how much time she spent translating M.C.’s – or rather M.S.’s as it would correctly be read, journal with Eli.  Nor did she realize how much time it would take away from her own research.  Not that she was complaining about spending time with Eli.

            Fed, bathed and dressed in her silk pajamas set, Valentina sat in bed surrounded by Tracker’s diary.  Freed from the box hidden under her father’s dresser, the unbound papers told the story of Tracker, a nineteen year old abducted from his school.  He was then kept at a commune populated entirely of gifted people.  By the time he’d managed to get paper to start writing his story, Tracker had suffered several beatings, was forced in to the militia, and beaten some more.  He was starved on again and off again, to the point where he began hoarding food when he was given it.  Tracker had the gift to track people he had met, and the nicknames “Tracker,” “Bloodhound,” and “Trailboy” stuck.  Valentina decided to call him Tracker because it seemed the least cruel.  Valentina always imagined Tracker as barely more than a child, alone and scared.  He was smart, and he credited his intelligence for his survival thus far.  Though, he also blamed his too-smart brain for running his too-smart mouth too often.

            Half way through a passage that Tracker had written about his training, Valentina’s felt heavy.  She’d barely made progress on the diary when she closed her eyes.  When she opened her eyes again, Valentina was no longer in her bed. 

            Light was filtered through the tree tops.  The only thing around for miles was trees, leaves and underbrush.  She started to wander, slow careful steps, quietly as possible.  A branch snapped.  Valentina ducked behind a tree, her heart racing.

            “Over there,” a harsh Russian accent called out to her, “Come out!”

            “Tracker?” Valentina was confused, hopeful and scared.

            “That again?” He sounded disgusted.  “I said come out.”

            Valentina stepped out from behind the tree to see Tracker in front of her.  He wore a uniform that was too big for him, but his build was obvious.  Tracker was tall, muscular and capable.  Valentina’s eyes fell to the knife in his hand and stepped back afraid.

            “Valentina?” Tracker’s dark eyes went wide.  He fumbled the knife, almost dropping it before he found the sheath on his belt.  They stood, watching each other for a short eternity before Tracker broke first. “Valentina! How did you get here?  Where did you come from?”

            “I just woke up here.” Valentina’s words came out slowly.  She remembered Tracker’s diary.  How most of the victims didn’t know how they got to the commune, and victims often sought out people from their homes as comfort.  “I came from New York City.”

            Tracker shook his head, taking a seat on a fallen log.  He lit up a cigarette from a pack hidden inside his jacket.  Valentina followed, unsure if he wanted the company.  When Tracked didn’t object to her approach, she took a seat beside him.

            “Is it beautiful?  He always wanted me to go, but I never made the time.  He promised it was beautiful.” Tracker said, speaking of someone he regarded fondly.  After a moment, he laughed to himself, “He always saw the beauty in everything but himself.”

            “Um… Well, I lived in one of the nicest areas of the city.  Yes, it was very beautiful.  It’s also very busy, and loud, and fast paced. … But beautiful.” Valentina smiled at the memory of her home.

            “Are you … Gifted?” Tracker paused to select the right word.

            “Yes.  I can see the past.  Not always.  Just when I try, or if I’m upset.”  She offered a bit of herself.  In return, Tracker handed her a pitifully small piece of chocolate from his pocket.  Some of his hoarded food.  He had so little, but was still willing to share.

            “You should keep your eyes open.  There’s a lot to learn from the past.” Tracker told her.  Their eyes met, and though Valentina looked away, Tracker kept watching. “You look like your mother.  Except for right here.”  His hand went to his face.  Valentina expected him to point to his nose, where she wore a splash of scars, but instead Tracker pointed to his own rich brown eyes.

            “Thank you, I guess.  Did you know my mom, Tracker?” Valentina took a bite from the chocolate.  It was bitter European stuff, like she had when she was growing up in Switzerland.

            “Valentina, it’s an amazing thing.  Many people gave their lives for yours, and they would do it again.  And in circle, your life is all that keeps him going.” Tracker stood up and started away.  “Be careful.  For all of us.”

            In the next moment, Valentina was awake, in her bed.  A sweat broke across her forehead.  She scrambled for her phone, and sent a message to the only person she believed would come for her.

            “Eli, I need you.  Please hurry.”