The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

B
laire was back at her desk when she saw the flashing envelope in the bottom left corner of her laptop screen, signaling new emails. Blaire stashed the stolen files in a crate under her desk and covered them with the legitimately received files before clicking open on the first of her emails.

Jonathan Speckle, Blaire’s attorney, once again urged her to tidy up her financial affairs and complete her will. Her uncle Eddie Baker was the only family that she had and considering the sum of her fortune, despite her young age, a last will and testament was crucial. Mr. Speckle had been managing her estate since she turned eighteen and had been pushing her for the will ever since. Once she notified him that she was leaving the country for a year, he was relentless. The second email was from her uncle, stating that he and his wife Bella needed more money. Obviously, Eddie Baker felt they were entitled to it.

Blaire was startled by a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Latif came in and closed the door behind him. On her desk, he plopped a bulky duffle bag.

“Is this everything?” she asked, unzipping the bag and browsing through the needles, bandages, bottles of pills, and vials of liquid like a child rambling through noisy cellophane and pastel eggs on Easter morning.

“Everything Travis asked for,” Latif told her.

“Thank you. Was the money enough?” she asked.

“More than enough,” he said and leaned in closer. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“I have heard that when women say nothing is bothering them, it is usually something big. I have heard that this is especially true with American women,” he teased.

“Where do you get this stuff?” she said, sighing deeply.

Latif reached out and caressed her forearm gently.

“You can talk to me.”

Blaire sat quietly for several moments. “You know how I told you about my parents dying when I was younger?” she began, and Latif nodded. “Well, when they died, my uncle and his wife cared for me. Everything that my parents had was left to me in trust. My uncle received money to care for me, but nothing like my inheritance.” Blaire stopped talking.

“So…” Latif pushed.

“Now my uncle wants…he feels as if he is entitled to more.”

“…and you don’t want to give it to him.”

“That’s the thing; I don’t even care about the money. I guess I just feel that if I give it to them, I’m saying that I was only good enough to be loved if I pay for it, and I just don’t want to say that. I just can’t,” Blaire confessed.

Latif was silent.

“And being here has just made me realize, all the more, how little the money means. Don’t get me wrong, because these children need many things that money can buy, but it’s all meaningless if no one loves you.” Blaire laughed awkwardly before she continued. “Upstairs in my drawer, rolled in a pair of socks are diamond earrings and a gold watch. I wore them on my first day, but I quickly realized that they don’t matter here.” Blaire had become emotional, finishing on the verge of tears.

Latif came around the desk and wrapped Blaire in his arms tightly.

That evening Blaire and Travis headed to Berek’s Beer House to review their pilfered files. It was early which meant the bar scene was fairly scant. Vana eyed them for several moments after they sat down before she yelled out to ask them what they were having. A moment later she was bouncing over to their table with two beers just as Blaire pulled the manila folders from her bag.

“Let’s see what we got here,” Travis said, rubbing his hands together, anxious as an archaeologist about to pop the lid on an ancient burial room. Blaire sipped her beer before handing him Natalka’s file, and then flipping open Ivan’s.

For several moments neither of them spoke, as they poured carefully over pages that soon littered the table like heavy snowflakes.

Travis moaned to himself thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Blaire asked.

“I don’t see anything too different here than what’s in the files we already have, but this is interesting,” he said, as he picked up a piece of dingy paper.

“What?” Blaire pressed.

“On Natalka’s intake form, it talks about her mother’s strange behavior on the day Natalka was brought to St. Sebastian.”

You could hardly tell it was spring that day judging from the relentless cold. A
beat
-up brown sedan rumbled up the gravelly driveway of St. Sebastian. Natalka eyed the place peculiarly through the cold windshield.

“What is this place, Papa?”

Her father said nothing.

“Papa?”

“It’s a school,” he answered in a brusque manner that she learned long ago meant to keep her questions to a minimum.

Natalka had never seen a school so big before, and had not even been to one of any size in several years. Natalka’s mother snuggled her face down into the ratted fur collar of her bulky coat and hummed to herself.

The young girl leaned forward from the back seat and placed her arms gently around her mother’s neck, hugging her.

“Sit down and quiet yourselves, boys!” Natalka’s mother yelled at her younger twin brothers. “You’re driving me crazy!”

Natalka looked across the back seat and eyed the playing boys strangely. Her father rolled his eyes at his wife.

Vesna’s pinched faced greeted them at the door, and she led them into the waiting area. Natalka could hear her heart pounding when Marko came into the room. He and Natalka’s father found a place off in a corner to converse quietly. Her mother wandered out into the hall where she eyed the hanging photographs along the wall. As she came to the one with the woman and child standing in front of the tree, she stepped closer to the photo and released a piercing screech that surged through the hall.

“Mama! Mama! Stop!” Natalka cried, grabbing at the woman’s coat. Natalka’s mother looked down at her daughter, and she screamed again. “DEVIL! EVIL DEVIL!” The woman violently pushed the girl to the floor.

Natalka’s father found them in the hall and grabbed his wife, who he held still in a
bear
-like hold to control her wild flailing. “Stop it! Stop it! Calm down!” he said, as he struggled to get the raging woman out the door.

“Wait here, Natalka,” her father instructed.

After wrestling his wife to the car, he pushed her into the passenger seat, shut the door and then scrambled around to the driver’s side where he jumped in, revved the engine and sped down the driveway.

“Is he leaving? He can’t just leave her here like this,” Marko commented halfway to himself. Natalka dashed out of the door, her dirty tennis shoes crunching against the tiny rocks.

“No, Papa wait!” she shouted so loudly that faint echoes of her cries could be heard in the streets of Borslav until they were suddenly silenced when the rocks beneath her feet unbalanced her, causing her to fall face first into the gravelly path.

When she pushed herself up, there was a thin layer of rock dust covering her face like a mask. She winced at the pain of the cuts where the rocks had dug brutally into her skin. Natalka looked down the road, and all that was visible was a billow of dirt that followed her father’s car like a cape. Streams of tears made tracks down through the soot on her face.

“Holy mother,” Blaire gasped. “What do you think was wrong with her mother?”

“Could be anything, trauma, mental illness...” Travis said as he shifted through the folder, searching.

“Well, it seems that there was nothing wrong with Ivan,” Blaire said.

“We figured that.”

“Yes, but I mean nothing at all, nothing physical, nothing mental. According to his file, his parents wanted him. The notes say that his mother cried profusely when they brought him here. St. Sebastian tried not to take him, didn’t want to take him, but the parents offered a hefty donation and agreed to make regular payments for his boarding. It says he fought them,” Blaire read out loud in amazement.

“Who wouldn’t fight off Vesna, Marko, and the rest of the gang?” Travis asked.

“No, not them. He fought his parents because he
wanted
to be at St. Sebastian.”

Blaire and Travis jumped as two huge mugs slammed down in front of them, causing beer suds to wave gently over the lips of the mugs and splash unto the table.

“Cheers!” Petro spoke heartily, holding up his mug in toast.

“Cheers!” Travis and Blaire replied in unison as they held their mugs up and toasted with one of the first people they had met in Borslav. Petro sat himself at the table. Blaire gathered up the documents, giving one a quick wipe when she noticed a wet splotch of beer had disfigured it. Petro peered down at the documents briefly with a look of disdain before almost instantly returning to his jovial self.

Several beers later, Berek’s was wall to wall with what appeared to be the entire population of Borslav, the natives eyeing the Americans carefully. Blaire gave Travis an informative cue and nod, as Petro noticed and took inventory of the room.

“Vana!” he yelled. “Another!” The lady at the bar spoke some words of recognition and was immediately preparing another round of beers.

“You are not very popular here,” Petro stated, his demeanor hardening.

“What? Why?” Travis said.

Petro lowered his head and his voice in one swift move.

“You’re asking too many questions up there. Making too much of a fuss.”

“At St. Sebastian?” Blaire clarified.

“Yes, St. Sebastian is nothing special, but it is all Borslav has. It provides a few jobs and is the only reason why this town is still alive and gets any funding at all. We take their unwanted children, and it is the only reason that we have anything. This was a growing town before St. Sebastian, before those children came and sucked the life from it. It’s like a curse or something, like the town is being punished for hiding away this area’s dirty little secrets. Regardless, that place and those children have become a part of who we are, and people think you are trying to get the place shut down. That is trouble for you,” Petro explained in a grave tone that made Blaire’s stomach shift.

“Petro,
no
—” Blaire stopped abruptly when she noticed a shadow standing over them. Vana placed the drinks on the table, and then walked away.

“Big trouble,” Petro insisted in a firm whisper that emphasized its severity.

“All we want to do is help those children. We are not trying to get St. Sebastian shut down. That is not our intention at all,” Blaire explained.

“She’s right,” Travis said, cutting in. “We have expressed some concerns, but we only want to make things better for the children, and we do not want St. Sebastian to close.”

Petro stared at them intently before speaking. “Yes, well, I will spread the word,” he said holding up his mug with a smile. Blaire and Travis smiled cautiously and held their mugs up in a final and uncertain toast.

“I’ll take you back,” Petro told them as the place was buzzing with locals whose stares ceased to become any less venomous.

Blaire packed their folders and papers into her bag.

Realizing that nature was calling, Petro stood up and announced, “I go to the bathroom.” He shuffled across the room, dropping money on the bar for their drinks, and then proceeded down the back hallway.

Blaire exhaled nervously, as it seemed the inhabitants of the bar were floating closer to their table, their stares assaulting Blaire and Travis.

“Let’s wait outside,” Travis said extending his hand to Blaire who was gathering the files.

Hastily, Blaire pushed out from under the table and threw her bag over her shoulder. They cautiously made their way through the small crowd toward the exit. The brisk night lingered right in front of her, just outside of the door when their path was suddenly blocked.

CHAPTER THIRTY

A
slick
-haired
y
ou
n
g
punk, whose cratered face documented his failing lifetime fight with acne
stood in
fr
ont of
them
like
a
st
a
t
u
e
. He was the ringleader of two lesser followers who flanked him, and his c
o
ffee colored
e
y
e
s bu
r
n
e
d into Blaire’s. A highly visible old scar
a
cr
oss his top lip publicly announced th
a
t he
w
a
s the depraved type of character who never shied away from a scuffle.
Blaire
w
a
s su
r
e
th
a
t the
follower
on his l
ef
t w
a
s his b
r
o
th
e
r
a
nd p
r
o
b
a
b
l
y
a
fe
w
y
e
ar
s
y
ou
n
g
e
r
th
a
n
t
he
ringleader,
who
w
a
s
n
o mo
r
e
th
a
n
twenty
-three
.
The
one
on t
h
e oth
e
r
side
w
a
s just a
foolish, but
f
a
i
t
hful
d
iscip
le
.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving,” the ringleader hissed.

Blaire looked into the young man’s face, not saying a word, sure that any answer given would be wrong.

“Hey buddy, we don’t want any trouble, so just leave us alone,” Travis warned.

“
You
can go…” the instigator said, giving his unsolicited permission.

“Look
—” Blaire began but was quickly cut off by Travis who was angry.

“Get out of our way,” Travis said. By this time the entire bar had taken notice.

“You don’t tell me what to do, American boy!” the leader responded in a thick accent, causing a drop of spit to hit his own chin. He and his two followers began to close in. Travis stepped in front of Blaire and pushed the disfigured punk hard, causing him to go crashing into the front door. The room erupted into a chaos of frenzied energy. The ringleader’s face filled with an adolescent rage, as he lifted himself from his position of defeat and charged toward Travis, who punched him in the face. He went flying back into the arms of someone familiar.

“Latif!” Blaire screamed.

“What’s going on, Franks?” Latif yelled, looking down at the dazed boy he held in his arms.

“He tried to attack us,” Blaire stammered.

“You should be a better fighter if you want to make a go of this troublemaker image,” Latif said, teasing the boy as he helped him get back to his feet. As Franks regained full consciousness, he attempted to charge toward Travis again, but Latif held him back.

“HEY!” a rumbling voice shook the room. Petro suddenly appeared between Travis and Franks, helping to keep them off one another. His voice was strong and halting, and Blaire was sure that if a bear could talk, it would sound like Petro. Franks made another attempt to charge, but Petro pressed his meaty forearm into the young man’s chest, allowing the boy virtually no movement.

Petro narrowed his eyes, and his voice descended on Franks like thunder. “Calm down, boy, and leave these people alone.”

“Yeah.” Latif echoed.

“Don’t get so serious, Petro man. I was just telling your little friend here that she better settle down up there at St. Sebastian before she starts something she can’t stop,” Franks said, still staring hungrily at Blaire.

He turned to Travis. “And you, American boy. You ever put your hands on me again, you will be going back to America in a box, got that?”

“Yeah, I’m real scared,” Travis said, staring back with the same intensity.

“Enough,” Petro said, moving the boy aside and allowing Blaire and Travis to exit.

The moment the Americans and their makeshift bodyguards hit the sidewalk, Berek’s returned to the merry atmosphere that Blaire and Travis had fallen in love with, as if someone flipped a switch, craning the dead carnival back to life.

“Who was that guy?” Blaire said, finally exhaling.

“Franks Pertrick,” Petro explained. “Token
small
-town nuisance.”

“And Vesna Pertrick’s nephew,” Latif added.

“That boy is Vesna’s nephew?” Blaire’s eyes opened wide.

“That’s right,” Petro confirmed.

“Thank you for standing up for us,” Blaire said to the pair.

“No problem,” Latif responded. “You want me to walk you back?”

“I’ll give them a lift,” Petro offered. “I’m headed out anyway.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Blaire asked Latif, feeling anxious at the thought of him returning to the bar.

“Those boys are no problem.” Latif smiled seductively. “Besides, I’m a native.”

It was still relatively early when Blaire and Travis were dropped off by Petro. He pulled his truck into the driveway with the engine of the truck growling noisily, but no further than he had on the first day.

“If I were you, I would stay away from the pub for a while,” Petro advised.

“Right. Thanks again, Petro,” Travis said. He and Blaire climbed out of the truck and started up toward the door.

Travis was quickly out of breath and had trouble walking. “I’m fine,” he said before Blaire could speak. He stopped for a moment to take a rest, then hunched over as if he was going to throw up, but just spit instead.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I think that confrontation is just setting off my ulcer.”

“I didn’t know you had an ulcer.”

“Neither did I.”

Blaire helped him up the porch steps and into St. Sebastian where he went ahead of her, lumbering up the stairs to their room.

All of the children were in their pajamas watching their Friday evening movie in the game room. In the hall, Blaire stopped for a moment and peered into the room. Vesna caught sight of her and shot the young woman a disapproving glare before returning her attention to the screen. Blaire started toward the stairs, but stopped when she noticed a dark shadow around one of Dariya’s eyes.

Blaire stepped into the room and studied Dariya’s fresh injury, but none of the children even took their eyes away from the screen to notice Blaire.

“They were playing too rough this afternoon. That is all!” Vesna said in a venomous whisper. Blaire was about to speak, but thought of Petro’s words and retired to her room quietly.

For a while Blaire sat on her bed cutting paper that she was preparing to make into elaborate masks for the masquerade party that she was planning for the children. Blaire pulled her blinds up a bit to stare out at the sea. Her fingers began to ache from all of the cutting, and she decided to go down and watch the end of the movie with the children before bed. Just as she came to the game room, Blaire’s attention was drawn up the hallway in front of her where she heard voices. As she crept through the corridor, she realized that the voices were coming from inside of her classroom, and she could hear them clearly now. It was a man and two women.

“But what shall we do with them?” Ivan said as he sat at the back of the room on top of one of the low bookshelves staring out into the water. Ivan turned his head slightly as Blaire entered the room.

“Hi, Ms. Baker,” Ivan said, revolving his focus back to the water outside.

“Hi, Ivan. What are you doing in here?”

“Nothing.”

“How did you get in here?” Blaire put her hand on the knob of the door and wiggled it.

“The door was open.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Them,” the innocent boy responded. Blaire jumped when the vents in the floor came to life and warm air thrusted out from them in a belch.

“Who, Ivan?” Blaire persisted.

“The ones who died here.”

“What happened in the basement, Ivan?”

“They died.”

“Who died?”

“They
all
died,” he whispered in the voice of a child. “And you will die, too.” A foreign voice erupted from the boy. Blaire could feel the sting of hot tears building up just inside of her eyes. She was not afraid, but there was something so perversely intimate about his words that she felt as if this tiny boy had reached inside of her and shined a light on her soul, and it burned.

His gaze drifted back to the window, but he felt bad for telling her what he knew. “It’s not your fault,” he added.

“What’s not my fault, Ivan?”

“None of it. She said it’s not your fault.”

“Who? What do you mean?” Blaire asked, her voice quivering as she stepped closer to the boy.

He whipped around, and his body was forceful as he lashed out at her with his face contorted in the same way as it was in all of Danya’s photographs.

“They’ll take you, torture you, rip off your head. The children in white will tear you to shreds. They’ll circle around you until you are dead. The children in white will leave you in red!” He screamed as she stumbled back falling into a desk. He started again. “They’ll take you, torture you, rip off your head. The children in white will tear you to shreds. They’ll circle around you until you are dead. The children in white will leave you in red! They’ll take you…”

“Stop it, stop it!” Blaire cried, tears blurring her vision.

Suddenly, the boy quieted and turned back to the window.

His breathing steadied, in and out, and soon he was weeping silently. Blaire was trembling but managed to lift herself off the desk, and she crept toward the boy, reaching out her hand until it was gently upon his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.