A Step to Nowhere (36 page)
Thank you for choosing this book and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This book is really close to my heart. The idea for it came from my dream. The first scene in the book: the rain, the phone, the stranger, and the old friend—was described exactly as I’ve seen it in my dream. I couldn’t get over this dream and decided to base a book on it. This is my first, but not the last science fiction novel. I had so many different feelings and emotions while writing it; I wanted to share all of them with you.
By this point you probably understood that English is not my first language. I don’t know it, don’t speak it, and don’t write it as well as you do. I realize it. But I still do a darn good job! Of course, I couldn’t do without editing and I love my editors. Nanci, who helped me with this book, became a good friend of mine and she does an amazing job in understanding what I wanted to say. For example—
flying soccer
. Nanci understood that I meant
saucer
. Or—
bite with a belt
. She did figure out that I meant to say
beat
. Or this—...
my copy asked my doubly and fleered
. Well, this one I found myself and couldn’t figure out what it meant. I would say LOL here, but we are not on a FB. What I meant to say is this—I know I make mistakes (as a matter of fact, I didn’t send this piece of writing to my editor leaving it as it is) and if my editor did miss something, I will greatly appreciate you letting me know about it in email. [email protected]. You can also use this email and join my mailing list. I will send you letters about my new books and nothing else. I’m a good girl and respect your desire not to be spammed.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider posting a review on Amazon or recommending the book to others. Trust me, nothing excites a writer more than a positive review (of course, only honest one). If you didn’t like the book, you’re free to say that too, of course.
I didn’t expect to write this much, but I can’t stop once I started to talk. Yes, I’m a talker. Again, this part of the book is not edited and I’m sorry for that, but it’s me and I want you to see the amazing job my editor has done.
I wish you all the best and happy reading!
Natasha A. Salnikova
My books
Abyssus abyssum invocate
in voce cataractarum tuarum;
omnes gurgites tui et fluctus
tui super me transierunt.
Deep calls to deep
in the voice
of your waterfalls;
all your whirlpools and waves
have passed over me
.
Psalm 42:7
Chapter 1
Inga sat on a corner of her bed, looking at the man putting on his clothes. He wasn’t rude to her like the others. He even tried to be nice, but now he didn’t look at her. He had finished his business and forgotten about her. They all forgot. She wasn’t a person to them but a soulless toy. They played and left. They wiped her from their memory and they didn’t want to think that, besides a used body, they left behind a crushed soul.
What about this one? Would he forget? What if he could help? What
if
? Or was it going to be like last time? Oh, God, if it was going to be like last time she would be done for good. They promised and they kept their promises.
Last time the man was so nice, so understanding. He asked her questions; he wanted to know how she ended up in this place. She told him everything, didn’t spare the details, and he promised to help her. Yes, he did. He left the room and after a few minutes another man entered. Eagle.
Inga didn’t want to recall anything that happened next, but it was like trying to stop a speeding car. How difficult it was to stop a memory, printed with bruises on your body, with scars on your arms and face. They had beaten her, tied her to the bed, and kept her that way for two days. They wanted to suppress not only her will to live, but her desire to be a human being. They didn’t touch her for three days after that, they even brought her food. They wanted her back in “working condition.”
This man was the first since that day. Not many men wanted a girl with bruises, and Inga appreciated that.
She shivered when she heard his voice. He was quiet from the moment he entered the room, as if he was ashamed to be here and do what he did.
“How did you get here?” he asked. He was already fully dressed with his hands in his jeans pockets.
She looked into his eyes, trying to guess what was hiding behind them.
Is it a provocation? Do they want to get rid of me? Maybe they set it up because some important guy didn’t like me?
She wouldn’t survive another “lesson.” She would become the next Kitty.
Yesterday, before dinner, they brought Kitty out to show everyone. She was naked, covered in blood. Dead. They said she hadn’t obeyed; she’d offended a client and tried to escape. Everyone cried, except for Cleopatra. She said that she envied Kitty, because for her this hell was over. No one touched their food that night.
Sometimes Inga wanted to die too. If she was dead they wouldn’t awaken her in the middle of the night to put her under another client. If she was dead they wouldn’t torture her and hit her. Some girls committed suicide and she wanted to try it too, but she knew her mom believed that her little girl was still alive. She couldn’t give up. Inga didn’t have the right to die and, to be honest, she wanted to live. Eagle tried hard but he couldn’t kill her hunger for life.
“Are you deaf?”
Inga shook her head and started to cry unexpectedly. Tears flowed like two rivers, overrunning each other.
She bit her lip to stop herself from wailing. If Eagle heard she wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.
The man frowned but didn’t move. He didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets. Inga couldn’t stop now. She looked at the man’s blurry silhouette and didn’t wipe her tears, letting them wet her through.
“Do you want some water?” he asked.
Inga swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped her tears, but a new flow started.
“I want to go home,” she whispered. “I want my mom.”
“Your mom?”
For a moment the man looked as though he had been struck by lightning. Inga pulled her throw blanket higher, leaving only her eyes visible. Why did she say that? What an idiot. Now he was going to call Eagle.
“Did you just say you want your mom?” The man took his one hand out of his pocket and pointed to Inga.
“I’m really sorry,” Inga pleated. “Please, don’t tell Eagle. Please.”
“Shit,” the man said as he scratched the back of his head. “You know I can get in trouble because of you?”
Inga looked at the door. Somebody might be standing there, listening. They didn’t trust her.
“How old are you?” the man asked, looking at Inga again.
“Twenty-three. Just turned.”
Inga wanted to add that she had turned twenty-three about eight days ago, but she had lost count of the days. She didn’t say anything. She would not stop crying after that, because eight days ago had been her birthday and she had received a beating instead of a gift: the taste of her own blood in her mouth instead of a cake.
The man shook his head.
“Where do you live? Lived? Where did you live?”
“Cincinnati.” Inga sniffed and wiped her nose with the throw. This man asked too many questions and he looked confused.
“We’re in Washington. My sister lived in Ohio. What’s your name? Serena doesn’t sound real.”
“Inga.”
“I’ve never heard that name before. How long have you been here?”
Inga sighed and looked at the man. She wanted to answer, but somebody knocked on the door. She shrank and closed her eyes. That was it. No hope, no escape.
“What the hell?” the man barked and Inga opened her eyes. He looked nervous.
“Just checking.” Inga recognized Drake’s voice.
“I wasn’t finished yet, you moron!”
“Sorry, brother.”
“Kiss my ugly ass!” the man screamed but he now looked scared.
Inga wasn’t sure if Drake left but she didn’t care. The man in front of her, with his belly hanging over his jeans, three-day-old stubble, and brown eyes wanted to help her. Inga wanted to believe it so badly.
“How long have you been here?” the man asked. He walked to the bed and sat down on the edge.
“About three weeks. I lost count.” The tears showed up again.
“Shit, why did I come here? It’s my first time, you know? I didn’t even want to, but my friend pushed me. He even paid for me, because … Okay, it’s not important. We don’t have time.”
The man stood up and started to unzip his pants, taking out his shirt he had just tucked in.
Inga pressed to the wall. Her breath became rapid; her hands started to shake.
Not again, not now. Please, not again.
The man stretched his hand to her and Inga jerked back. He shook his head in embarrassment and then he walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.
This was the end. He was going to call Eagle and that would be the end of her. She would never see her mom again, or her sister, or her home, or …
“Mother fuckers, you ruined it! You
ruined
it! Mother fuckers! Try to knock again and I’ll get my money back, you stupid morons! Did you hear me?”
“It’s okay, brother,” Drake said. “Fuck her until her eyeballs fall out.”
“Just try to knock again, morons.”
The man closed the door but didn’t lock it. Everyone got special instructions before entering the room. Lock the door and keep the key with you at all times. No one should leave the room but the client.
“Listen,” the man said as he bent to Inga and whispered in her ear. “I can get in trouble but I have a daughter younger than you. Only she’s blond with blue eyes and you’re a brunette with brown … What am I talking …? It doesn’t matter … My mother ... God, help you … I’m really sorry … If it helps at all.”
He walked inside the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
Inga couldn’t believe what had just happened. She stared at the closed bathroom door and moved her eyes to the unlocked room door. It was blue on the inside and black on the outside. The door so hated. The door, through which you couldn’t come in or out without permission, without order, without a push in the back. Hated and alluring, simple, wooden, magical door. For a few minutes Inga couldn’t move. Her limbs got numb from the unexpectedness of the expected, from the reality of the situation she was dreaming about. It seemed that even her heart and her lungs stopped functioning. She looked at the door, waiting for it to open, waiting for Eagle to storm inside with a chain in his hands, with his face twisted in rage and excitement for the upcoming torture. No one entered. The door didn’t open; everything was quiet.
“I can’t wait any longer,” the man said from behind the closed bathroom door, pulling Inga out of her stupor. She jumped from the bed, snatched her panties and silk see-through negligee, the only clothes she had, from the floor, and put them on, breathing heavily from rushing. She dropped the blanket on her shoulders and dashed to the door. She grabbed the handle but couldn’t turn it. Her vision clouded from fear and nervousness. Her body shook uncontrollably.
This was her chance. Her second chance and maybe her last.
Inga inhaled, turned the handle, and pulled the door open. One more breath and one step into the hallway. An empty hallway. Could it be? Was it her luck?
On her right was a dining room with yellow walls and rows of tables and chairs. On her left was a lobby and there was an exit to the outside. Her room was the first from the lobby. What luck! Inga closed the door, holding her breath, and flew to the exit. Her bare feet touched the warm, wooden floor soundlessly. What would she find ahead? How far could she go in these clothes at the end of November?
Here was the door outside, her door to freedom. It was painted black like the walls. Inga looked back and saw the eyes of Bitch. They were wide from shock and disbelief. She was sitting at her desk with a
Good Home
magazine. A young woman, called Bitch by the girls, took clients to the rooms, chose their fate.
In the hallway, behind Inga’s back, the man screamed.
“She got out!”
It was Inga’s client. He screamed. He had to scream to save himself, but she had a chance.
Before Bitch recovered from her shock, Inga pushed the door open and flew outside under piercing streams of rain and gusts of icy wind. She didn’t expect it and for a second she was lost and began to choke. A commotion started in the house.
Inga rushed away, her feet sinking in the mud. She hadn’t even reached the first tree when she heard yelling behind her back.
“You stop right now, bitch! Stupid whore! You’d better stop! You’re dead, bitch!”
From the pain in her feet that were sliding over stones, stumbling on sharp branches, she wanted to cry. She was close to blacking out from fear.
There were trees ahead. They hid an old motel, which had become a house of terror, from the road. The branches were scattered over the ground, and others caught her hair and scratched her face. Inga didn’t notice that she was crying and she didn’t stop, despite the cursing and sound of footsteps following behind her.
She couldn’t believe it when she saw a road ahead, the asphalt shining in the rain from the lights of an approaching car.
“You stop right now, bitch!” Eagle was breathing hard and too close.
Inga ran onto the road, toward a car. Now she didn’t care; she didn’t have a choice. She would rather die under the wheels of the car than return to the house and die anyway. This time she was going to die for sure, and her naked body would be exposed for all to see, to teach others a lesson.
The light blinded her and she expected an impact, but it didn’t happen. The driver slammed on the breaks, the tires skidded, and the car stopped. Before Inga understood what had happened, somebody grabbed her arm.
“Let her go, fuck head!”
“Who are you?”
A strange man’s voice sounded over Inga’s head and she opened her eyes. A young man held her arm. Eagle was standing close, holding his favorite toy, a heavy metal chain, in his hands. Drake was approaching. He was bending down, trying to catch his breath.