Help Me Say Goodbye Ch. 08

"Wait! You can't just sell me like a piece of meat! I'm a person, an American. I have rights, you know!" She completely loathed the man but... Better the Devil you know than the Devil you don't.

"Ms. Goldman, the moment you decided to deal with my associate you gave up many of your so-called rights. Do not make me regret letting you live. Your American arrogance and sense of entitlement will only bring you more pain and suffering than I think you want to endure. Now, I'll give you a bit of advice since you've proved to be quite...satisfactory." His hungry, feral smile made her shiver and want to crawl under the car and hide. "Do not try to fight your new master, pet. He may not look like much but I'm told he makes me look like a fairy godmother in comparison when angered." Carla paled so quickly she swayed on her feet in a near faint. How could anyone be more cruel than this hateful, disgusting man?

A tug on her chain brought her attention back to her new 'master' who had crawled into the back of the limo and was pulling on her to join him. Once inside, Carla was surprised to notice there was a second man there who looked, oddly enough, like an accountant of some sort. Before she could take a seat, the piggish man barked something at her in that strange language of his and tugged hard on her chain to bring her to her knees on the floor. When she failed to comprehend his orders, he yanked her forward pulling her face into his lap and then pointed at his belt. With trembling fingers, the former opera diva unhooked the belt and began working on the buttons of his trousers. As she performed her new duties, the accountant brought out several documents and they began discussing what she could only imagine was business.

xxxxxx

In Kirov, Erik and Alexandra were curled up by a warm fire in matching bathrobes while their thick winter gear dried. His friend had somehow managed to secure transportation to the coast and, from there, onto a ship heading for Sweden. The only delay to leaving immediately was having to wait for new passports to be made. Since rushing meant a faulty end product, they would remain at his place for the next twenty-four hours which was perfectly fine with Alex. After a cup of coffee so strong it nearly poured itself, she caught Erik's attention and eased the hem of her robe to her knee.

"I think I've learned my lesson on things of this nature, love, so would you see just how badly I've cut my ankle?"

"Of course, petite, we can't have you falling ill so close to freedom." Even a quick glance told him that the wound was already showing signs of infection and he rose to gather the supplies he'd need to treat it. Soaking a gauze bandage in betadine, Erik repeatedly rubbed over the scab; soaking it so that it would open naturally and with less pain than simply pulling it off or slicing into it. He could tell that even the gentle pressure he was using was painful but Alex barely flinched. It hurt him to his very soul to think that she was getting used to being injured and he swore this was it. If he had to lock her away in a castle to keep her safe from harm he would do so.

"How did you do this, Alexandra?" He really didn't need to know but she needed something to focus on when he started flushing the wound with saline. Erik knew from experience that it tended to sting quite sharply. As she talked, he cleaned the cut, covered it with a light film of topical anesthesia, and stitched up the rather jagged wound. Though he would have preferred none of this to happen at all, he was proud of her strength and courage and amazed that this lovely creature wanted to be with him forever.

By the time she was finished, he'd wrapped her ankle in fresh gauze and put the supplies away. He came back to see her starting to doze from the warmth of the fire, safety, and a bit of sedative he'd placed in her coffee to help her sleep. Picking her up in his arms, Erik carried her to the guest bedroom they'd been given, helped her out of her robe and into bed. He quickly followed and, pulling her back against his chest, turned off the light and held her close as she slept.

January 30

Nighttime shadows closed in on her from every angle and mysterious sounds urged her down a dark path that contrasted sharply with the fresh snow. There was something about that path that caught Alex's eye and she strained to see it more clearly but the shadows were too thick and the noises were growing closer. A brief flare of light lit up the outline of a man leaning against the building. When he dropped the match, she watched it as it fell; its unnaturally slow descent illuminating the path she'd followed. It was red. The deep maroon, almost black, shade of coagulated blood.

"Why did you kill me?" The smoking man turned to face her and she could see the blood seeping from a jagged wound in his chest. "I just wanted a kiss...give me a kiss...you owe me a kiss!"

Alex tried to scramble backwards but was caught by a second person. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Agent Wallace whose skin was the same grey pallor of death as the guard's. His head hung limply to the side now that his broken neck could no longer support it properly while blood oozed from the wound in his knee. In vain, Alex struggled to escape his cold grip. The guard continued to advance and she watched in horror as his deathly pale face came closer and closer...

Erik sat on her legs and held her wrists while trying to wake her. She'd started whimpering in her sleep ten minutes ago, rousing him from a most pleasant and erotic dream of the woman at his side. At first he thought she might be experiencing a similar fantasy; that was before the first bloodcurdling scream. When he'd attempted to wake her, Alex began fighting against his hold and so he'd had to fully restrain her. Even now she threatened to throw him to the floor as she bucked beneath him and struggled to free her hands. Transferring both wrists to one hand, he gently tapped her cheek while calling her name. When that didn't work, he spied the pitcher of water by the bed.

Spluttering, Alex's eyes shot open to see her beloved phantom above her, worry etched deeply on his maskless features. Looking around her frantically, she realized she was safe and out of the snow; away from the men whose deaths she'd caused. Catching Erik's concerned gaze, she promptly burst into tears. He quickly rolled to her side and gathered her close, murmuring soothing words in her ear as he stroked her hair and back. He'd seen the dead man shoved under the shed and had wondered when it would hit. The first person you kill always haunts you the worst. He'd hoped she'd never have to learn that particular fact.

"You're safe now, ma petite chère, I have you. You're safe." He whispered softly as he planted kisses in her hair. It broke his heart to feel her body shuddering from her sobs as she attempted to purge the terror of the nightmare from her mind. Her words were broken and disjointed as she told him about the guard she'd been forced to kill or risk recapture. "I know, petite, but you did what you had to in order to survive. There was no other option. Had you simply rendered him unconscious, he might have awakened too soon for either of us to escape." He leaned back slightly to gently brush the tears from her cheeks and place a tender kiss to her brow before gathering her close to him once more. "It is alright to cry, mon amour. Know this; however, bringing death in order to survive doesn't make you evil or a monster. That only occurs when death no longer bothers you as it should."

Erik continued to hold her long after her tears dried and her sobs faded into irregular shudders of indrawn breath. He had thought to see her to safety before pursuing Zakharov but, after her nightmare, he knew he could delay it no longer. Easing gently from her arms, he covered her with the blankets and brushed his lips across her cheek. Turning, he dressed quickly, wrote a brief note of explanation, and left the room silently. As he entered the living room, Erik was unsurprised to find Vasili, his contact, waiting for him. Alex's screams had wakened him abruptly as well. Once told of the nature of the nightmare, the Russian understood perfectly. No one ever forgets their first kill. Vasili prepared Erik a cup of the strong Russian tea and they sat by the fireplace to plan his attack on one of the most powerful crime bosses in Eastern Europe.

Sources had revealed that European Electronics had not authorized an additional attack on either Alexandra or Erik which meant that Zakharov had gone rogue. The organization generally didn't allow that to happen and were certain to retaliate soon. Depending on who and how many supported the slave trafficker's involvement, his actions could have had at least one positive effect: a shake up in the upper echelons of the company. Rumor had it that he was going into seclusion due to several attempts on his life in the past few days. Of his associates, most had already distanced themselves from the slaver not wanting to get caught on the wrong side of the inevitable battle. The only one who had vocally remained loyal was Nikolai Vlascenko and he was in the U.S. on business.

When Erik mentioned that Zakharov hadn't been at his compound in Kirov, Vasili searched the files and pulled out a folder containing the name of a bookshop/coffee shop just a few blocks from the CIA safehouse. Looking over the information, it confirmed what Wallace had told Alex under duress. Inside the folder were blueprints, employee names with pictures, and known agents on both sides who frequented the store. Though it was owned by Zakharov, it was considered neutral territory for all sides which made it the perfect hiding place. Glancing at the clock, Erik knew he still had at least three hours before the sun rose to do reconnaissance on the building.

Avoiding the roads, and their subsequent road blocks, the masked man instead rode cross-country on a beautiful snow-white colt. Spirited and feisty, César reminded him of Alexandra in many ways. Outside of Kirov, Erik skirted the town to a small farm owned by Vasili's brother where he'd stable the horse out of the elements. Leonid met him at the stables and gave him updated information on Zakharov's movements while they secured the horse.

"I haven't been to Kirov since last night but he was still there. A friend who works in the market across the alley says she saw him in an upstairs window. Very animated he was while talking on the telephone, very angry. Be careful, Fantôme, for even the meekest creature will strike when cornered and he is most definitely not meek."

"Spasibo, Leonid. I will return for the horse before noon at the latest."

Shaking his hand, Erik then turned and walked the last few kilometers to the small town of Kirov. He kept to the trees as long as possible, thankful there were still clouds left to obscure the harsh light of the moon from revealing his position. The closer he came to the book shop, the thinner the cover of the trees and he darted into the shadows of the alley behind it. The building looked like all others in the area, built of sturdy brick to withstand the fierce winters; and like the others, it had seen its share of damage from the fighting that had torn the former USSR into pieces. The rubble strewn along the alley was mostly dislodged bricks from surrounding buildings, sheets of tin roofing that were no longer salvageable as a building material, and twisted metal beams of various sizes.

Stepping carefully around the rubble, Erik located the market Leonid spoke of and, turning, found the window. It was dark indicating either absence of its occupant or sleep; the masked man hoped for the latter. He removed his bulky winter parka and hid it beneath a twisted sheet of metal. Shivering slightly from the cold, he spun the thin rope weighted by a rubber-tipped grappling hook before flinging it onto the roof where it wrapped around an iron bar with the barest of sounds. Quietly, he began his ascent up the side of the building. As rough as the brick wall was, gaining traction with his feet proved easier than he'd thought it'd be and he was perched on the window sill within minutes.

He pushed gently but the window was locked which was expected. Wrapping the rope around his arm to ensure a firm hold, Erik pulled a small tool with a suction cup on one end and a small wheel on the other. Pressing the cup to the center of the pane of glass, he took a small bottle of oil and lubricated the wheel completely before rotating the arm around suction cup in a circle. A sharp push while holding the bar between the cup and the wheel and the circle of glass broke free of the pane with only the faintest of pops. Erik laid the glass on a nearby shelf inside the room, unlocked the window, and raised the sash to allow him entry.

Outside the door, he could hear the muttering of guards who were watching the wrong entry point and smile evilly. If all went as planned, they'd never know what happened to their employer when the body was found. Silently padding over to the bed, Erik stared down at the man who'd caused so much trouble to those he loved. Quickly gagging him before he could alert the guards by the door, Erik reached into a thin, narrow pocket on his sleeve and removed a hypodermic. Not caring if his bedside manner was less than gentle, he plunged the needle into Zakharov's upper arm and emptied the small chamber. The sharp pain woke the slave trader whose eyes widened at the sight of the masked man hovering over his bed. Kneeling, Erik leaned over to whisper softly in his ear.

"Do you feel it, Zakharov? Do you feel the serum slowly working through your system, robbing you of movement, of speech? I couldn't have you calling in your watchdogs and spoiling our fun; and it will be fun, comrade. At least for me." Erik's smile was a terrible thing to behold and, along with his muscle control, Zakharov's control of his bladder had also been affected. Humiliation only fueled the hatred in his eyes as he tried to fight against the drug that had immobilized him. A razor sharp pair of scissors divested the prone man of his night shirt which Erik used to strap his hands to the bed frame. No use taking any chances.

"You have caused me and mine a considerable amount of trouble, old friend." He pulled a thin, sharp knife from his boot and pressed it slowly into the blond man's shoulder; the pain reflected only in his eyes. Once it had pierced the mattress beneath, Erik withdrew it to contemplate a small glass bottle. "I would have allowed the Agency to handle things had you not come for us again but you wouldn't leave us alone. It was bad enough that you placed even more scars upon my hideous self but you dared to hurt my Alexandra and that I will not tolerate." Uncapping it, he let several small drops fall into the bloody wound and watched as the acid began eating its way through the already damaged flesh.

"You once called me a monster because of my face, monsieur, but you were more accurate than you knew. I will show you what truly makes me a monster but, in order to do so, you have to become one as well." The widening of Zakharov's eyes as the bottle moved over his face was the only way the fear and pain could be expressed. As the acid fell in hot, sizzling drops across his cheeks, his body twitched as it fought the drug that had rendered him helpless. Erik chuckled soundlessly and held a mirror in front of his captive so he could see exactly what was happening to him.

The acid had already burned away much of the flesh of his cheeks, leaving bloody bones and teeth exposed to the air. And still it voraciously ate through the man's face. Erik folded the pillow and placed it beneath his head to elevate it somewhat. No sense in halting the fun prematurely just because the acid had reached Zakharov's brain. Leaning close so that he was looking into the pain filled eyes in the mirror, Erik whispered softly in his ear.

"You see, monsieur? Even the most handsome of men have a monster buried inside and yours wasn't even hidden away all that deep. I heard of your plans for my fiancée, by the way. Really, Stanislav... Vlascenko? I thought you'd gotten rid of that disgustingly perverse creature ages ago."

Shaking the bottle, both men could hear the faint splash of liquid inside. There was a small amount left and, in lieu of his recent statements and Erik's malicious smile, Zakharov knew where it would be used and braced himself for the pain. Jerking the blankets onto the floor, the sharp scissors made swift work of the gaudy boxer shorts the man wore. The masked man smirked when he saw that his victim was definitely not at his best in the frigid air. Slowly, knowing the anticipation was very nearly as bad as the pain itself, Erik allowed a single drop to fall onto the head of Zakharov's shriveled manhood. The pain was excruciating and Erik had to hold him to the bed as his body thrashed. He didn't have much longer before the pain and adrenaline shook off the effects of the drug. Damn, he'd have to hurry.

The thin blade sank into the meaty flesh of his thigh where Erik turned it before removing it to watch the blood bubble up from the wound. Several more times the blade descended into the body of his victim; every place painful but not fatal. When harsh grunts were coming from Zakharov's throat and he'd gained enough control of his arms to tug at his bonds, Erik knew his time was up. With a final swipe of the blade across his victim's throat, he watched the life fade from the man who'd tried to take what was his. Cleaning the blade with the bed sheet, he slipped it back into its sheath and exited through the window. Gripping the rope, he slid silently to the ground, retrieved his parka, and slipped from the alley into the welcoming shadows of the trees. Erik retrieved César without incident and rode quickly back to Vasili's house and his beloved Alexandra.

February 5

Blankenship had been transferred to a federal prison awaiting his indictment. Ironically, it was the same prison from which Zakharov had only recently escaped. Every day his lawyers would arrive to look for something, anything, which could get the case kicked out of court but their client refused to cooperate. He felt safer from Chaney/Zakharov within the walls of the prison than he would without. Frustrated, the case was repeatedly handed off to other lawyers within the firm Omni had on retainer. This visit was no different. When Blankenship was brought into the consultation room, there was yet another new face behind the briefcase.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Blankenship. I'm Matt Findley, your new lawyer. Mr. Whitman was called away with a family emergency and..."

"Cut the bullshit, Findley." Blankenship interrupted with a bored wave of his hand. "I know and you know why Whitman pawned the case off on you. My question is what did you do to piss him off so badly that he made you take it?"

"I assure you, Mr. Blankenship, that is not what happened. As a matter of fact, I requested this case."

"Stupid son of a bitch," the prisoner chuckled dryly, "what do you hope to prove, hmm? I'm guilty. The evidence is irrefutable even if Chaney got to Carla already. Yes, I've heard that she's gone missing, suspected of flying to a non-extradition country, but we both know that's not what happened. Chaney or one of his associates has her and I'm sure she wishes she was in this prison right now rather than wherever she is. The prosecution won't offer a deal since they have too much evidence for a full conviction so I'm not really sure why you're here."

"Well, Mr. Blankenship, it is my solemn duty as a member of the judicial system to ensure that you get a fair trial." The rotund lawyer paced around the room as he spoke. Blankenship simply looked bored. "Because you know as well as I that my associates want to ensure you get the very best representation so that you get nothing more than what you deserve." A pudgy hand landed on the prisoner's shoulder and he jumped at a sharp pain. Turning to gaze at the lawyer, Blankenship's eyes were caught by the needle that protruded from the signet ring.