Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (12 page)

“
Fair enough. Where should
I begin?”

“
You called me the other
night, asking about the girl who disappeared—Krista LaCroix. You
were never a classmate of Krista’s, were you?”

“
No, sorry.”

“
Then why did you ask about
her? Morbid curiosity?”

“
I don’t exactly make a
habit of calling journalists late at night to inquire about
murders.”

Camilla folded her arms, waiting for
Vivian to elaborate.

“
Okay, I’m not a friend or
classmate of Krista. I’m not some voyeuristic freak who takes an
interest in disappearances. I’m a prostitute.”

She savored the shock that lanced
across Camilla’s face. Her pleasure veered toward regret in an
instant, recalling her cruel descent from a shy school girl to a
streetwalker.

“
I never anticipated doing
anything like this with my life. Hurting people for their money. I
always wanted to attend college for nursing, but I had to pay for
it out of my own pocket. I turned to stripping for an easy way out.
I’m sure you can imagine the
pride
my parents felt when they found out. Mom and Dad
wanted to send me to a special program for sex victims.”

Vivian shivered against the clawed
wind that plucked at her clothes.

“
You specialized in pain
and pleasure?” Camilla asked.

“
Not my proudest moment, I
know. But I learned early on that the only way to survive is to
offer something no one else will. One night, I took it too
far.”

She shook her head in disgust, begging
the images to depart her brain.

“
I couldn’t tell you
exactly what happened that night. I don’t remember if I was high or
not, but I was dealing with a customer. Before I knew it, he was
bleeding to death on the streets. I don’t recall hurting him, but I
must have. A detective named Nikolai witnessed the whole fucking
thing and arrested me for attempted murder. I don’t even know how I
was capable of inflicting that kind of damage to a person. I’m not
completely sure what stopped Nikolai from throwing me in prison
with the rest of the trash. Maybe he took some twisted pity on me
or his ears perked up when I said I would do anything. In a matter
of minutes, I handed my life over to him as an informant. You’ve
probably known longer than me that several young women have
vanished in Prague. Nikolai wants me to find out…”

She bit her tongue. Should she divulge
the horrifying truth about the victims? Camilla absentmindedly
licked her lips, eager to sink her teeth into whatever crumbs of
information Vivian could provide.

“…
He wants me to find out
what’s happening to these women.”

“
Believe me, Vivian, the
police know what’s happening. Either Nikolai is lying to your face
or you’re lying to me.”

Vivian hardly expected such boldness
from a tame girl. It took her a moment to bounce back from the
accusation.

“
You’re afraid to tell me,
aren’t you?”

“
Camilla, you have to
understand the kind of position I’m in. I’m standing on a razor’s
edge right now. Nikolai forbid me from telling anyone.”

“
Under these circumstances,
I think you owe me an explanation.”

“
Damn it! I don’t have a
choice! I never asked to chase down these missing women. If I don’t
do as Nikolai says, I’m condemning myself to prison!” Flustered,
she leaned her arms on the bridge and dropped her head into her
hands. Why did everyone demand so much of her?

She just wanted to go home and forget
about this entire ordeal.

Camilla’s voice sounded gentler
now.

“
You still haven’t told me
what brought you here.”

“
Nikolai gave me a key to
Vesely Manor. I suppose he thought I could stay here
unnoticed.”

“
So… you’re doing all of
this in the hopes you can return to school?”

“
This may be my only chance
to piece my life back together.” She gazed into the Sea of Fire as
if to catch a glimpse of her future. Camilla’s eyes met hers in the
misty reflection. Vivian was hardly expecting the smile on her
face.

“
What?”

“
Not many people would go
to such lengths to redeem themselves.”

“
Redemption
? That’s pretty dramatic,”
she scoffed.

“
I really mean it. You
might be surprised how many people give up on themselves… or one
another.” The silence hung between them as they leaned over the
bridge. The candlelight wavered mysteriously. “To be perfectly
honest, I never finished high school.”

“
But how did you get a job
as a journalist?”

“
Sheer luck. I showed some
promise with an article I submitted about abuse in orphanages. Then
my phone rang one morning and the editor in chief wanted to have a
little chat.”

“
It must be nice to work
legally.”

“
Prostitution is only
illegal in certain districts. That being said, you didn’t choose
the right place to ply your, um… trade.”

“
Yeah, well… how is
journalism treating you?”

“
It’s an exciting job, but
it’s just enough to get by.”

“
I see…”

The candlelight hissed out.

“
What’s it like?” Camilla
asked. “To be a prostitute?”

Vivian expected a recorder to
materialize in her hand. She smiled.

“
There’s not much of a
difference between a whore and a journalist. You sell yourself for
whatever you can get.”

* * *

Nikolai peered through the
rain-spattered windshield, resting his palms on the wheel. Imagery
from the autopsy lingered in his mind like the bitter aftertaste of
cheap wine. He was glad to be rid of the medical examiner’s office,
but his destination did not enthrall him either.

Only an empty house awaited him at the
end of the gnarled road paved with leaves. Some of the rooms inside
remained shut for years now, sealing away a part of his past too
painful to revisit.

He rarely ventured beyond the sanctity
of his bedroom or study. Occasionally, he would explore the kitchen
and try his hand at cooking meager meals, but he often strayed to
the nearest diner for a hot meal and idle conversation with
women.

He barely suffered any human contact
since the first of many homicide reports crossed his desk. The
LaCroix investigation had become his mistress, jolting him from
sleep, demanding every fraction of his attention, leaving him an
empty husk of a man. In some ways, he invested more devotion to
this case than any previous marriage. But like every relationship,
it took its venomous toll. In Nikolai’s case, that toll arrived at
midnight.

Trudging into his house, he poured
himself a glass of Becherovka. It glowed enticingly like stray
embers flickering in a green void. Is this what he was reduced to?
Solace in a bottle?

In truth, there were more degenerate
reasons that made him lift the glass to his lips.

It seemed to be the only thing that
drowned out her voice. The musical chime of his daughter’s
laughter. Nikolai reclined in a buttery leather chair. Sometimes he
still imagined he could see her skipping down the hall. Emily’s
brown hair would flutter behind her as she disappeared around the
corner. He could see her so vividly that sometimes he swore she was
still alive.

The awful truth remained that she had
been taken from him. And there was no way of bringing her back. He
threw back his head and the liquor burned all the way
down.

* * *

Camilla gracefully swept away from the
bridge as thunder bellowed from the pregnant skies.

“
I could take you on a tour
of the manor, if you haven’t already explored it from top to
bottom.”

Rain pecked Vivian on the cheek and
she looked up at the puffy clouds. They grumbled malevolently,
urging her to seek shelter behind those ancient walls.

“
Sure, why not? You don’t
seem like the psychopathic killer type, so I should be fine.” That
comment set Camilla back on her heels.

“
How would you know if I’m
dangerous or not?”

“
You’re a journalist, for
God’s sake! What are you going to do? Club me with your recorder?”
Vivian laughed.

“
I’m not helpless, if
that’s what you’re suggesting—” Camilla abandoned that thought as
lightning slashed the sky. “You and I will continue this
conversation later.”

Weaving through the statues, they
ducked inside the entrance.

Needles of rain pounced on the manor.
Vivian had always enjoyed the sound of rain and the sky’s fury as a
teenager. Seething storms offered her the perfect excuse to cuddle
up in bed with a mystery novel and a gigantic teddy
bear.

Now the lash of wind and rain heralded
another kind of feeling: abandonment. Her body and soul had been
forsaken to the elements of the city. Even the cold rain had leaked
through the ceiling in her old apartment, kissing her fingertips
and waking her from childhood dreams. At least the new roof over
her head repelled the storms that crashed over Prague.

Vivian turned her attention to a
large, vintage portrait on the wall. The aristocratic woman wore
her pride with pearls and jet gleaming in the dark tresses of her
hair. A lynx pelt draped across her creamy arm, the animal’s eyes
replaced with sumptuous rubies and diamonds. Rolling valleys faded
under the cloak of night behind the woman, setting the tone for a
seductive moon in the fractured clouds.

She bore the same grimacing expression
that scarred so many people’s faces in early paintings. Her feline,
amber eyes were so life-like that they could skewer her soul.
Sometimes she wondered if people were incapable of smiling
centuries ago or if some illness froze their mouths in perpetual
scowls.

“
Were her lips sewn
shut?”

“
Lady Danica Vesely wasn’t
known for her smile,” Camilla chuckled, proudly flashing one of her
own. “She did, however, establish one of the first Magdalene
asylums in Europe.”

“
An asylum? That’s her
legacy to the world?”

“
Unfortunately, yes. The
asylums were named for St. Mary Magdalene, the patroness of
‘wayward women.’”

“
What do you mean wayward
women?”

“
Prostitutes. Magdalene
asylums were established to rescue women from prostitution and
rehabilitate them to enter society.”

Rehabilitation. Why did
that remind her so much of the program her parents threatened to
send her to? Weren’t they going to enroll her in a program to
rehabilitate sex victims?
But I’m not a sex
victim
, she vehemently thought.
I was only stripping to get by.

“
What happened in these
asylums?”

“
Well, they weren’t
pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. Prostitutes were called
‘children’ and required to address the nuns as ‘mother.’ In the
beginning, the Magdalene asylums provided shelter for women seeking
refuge from disease, prison, abusive husbands, and poverty. They
even housed children born out of wedlock. Unfortunately, these
institutions were rife with psychological, sexual, and physical
abuse.

“
By the twentieth century,
the asylums began to operate as workhouses to finance church
operations. The women worked long hours without pay. Unfortunately,
my ancestors profited from these laundries at the expense of women
and children’s labor. Coupled with the abuse, my family went down
in history as slavers—and that comes closer to the truth than I
care to admit. My ancestors fled to a remote corner of
Czechoslovakia where they managed to stew in the profits of their
crimes, throwing lavish parties and dappling in politics and
religion. The Magdalene Midnight Mission is the last remaining
laundry in Europe.”

“
That’s where my parents
were sending me!” Vivian exclaimed, retreating from Lady Danica’s
harsh stare.

“
What?
”

“
Yes! I remember them
talking about that place!”

For the longest time, Camilla didn’t
dare speak.

“
You probably did the right
thing by running away. The laundry is set up like a prison… not to
mention the ongoing abuse.” Vivian gazed solemnly at the portrait
of Lady Danica, the woman responsible for industrializing
abuse.

“
Do you think my parents
knew?”

“
About the abuse?” Camilla
said. “Not likely. The scandals tend to be covered up.”

“
Oh, lovely.”

“
I almost ended up in a
Magdalene asylum myself. My birth threatened my father’s
marriage—having me out of wedlock and all. My father lacked the
moral fiber Lady Danica possessed. I suppose I’m grateful for that.
If not for his infidelity, I wouldn’t exist. My father left me with
my uncle to be raised in secret. Since then, I’ve made it my
mission to end the tyranny of these asylums by exposing the abuse
inside. Only the Magdalene Midnight Mission remains.”