Psycho Within Us (The Psycho Series Book 2) (23 page)

What a strange experience it must be
, to wake up like this
.  Shcherbakov had often wondered what it must feel like on the side of his targets.  How innocent most of them were just moments before their time came.  What must it feel like to be going about their daily lives like normal, only to go unconscious and wake up in the direst of predicaments, the cruelest of nightmares?  What a rude awakening, especially for one so lovely and young as this one.  Such wide-eyed innocence was so easily and irrevocably shattered, like a child nearing the end of Mother Goose’s fairy tales, only to turn to the next page and find a detailed picture of a human autopsy.  There was no returning to purity.

Shcherbakov took another long drag, exhaled slowly.  The woman’s eyes searched the room incessantly, until finally they landed on him.  The Grey Wolf nodded
his greeting.  The woman started to cry, struggled a bit, and then choked her own cries short.  Even the slightest flailing from her legs or feet pulled the rope around her neck, tightening the noose.

The Grey Wolf nodded again.  “Let’s talk about a few things.  I only want yes or no answers, you understand.”  It wasn’t a question.

Tears fell from the woman’s face; she started hyperventilating through her nose.  Shcherbakov took in a great big breath, let it out slowly, and said, “
Breeeeeeeathe
, Ms. Rubashkin.  Breathe now.”  She tried, failed, choked herself, and tried again.  After a minute, the young woman just went as still as she could, but there was only so much slack and she was exhausting herself trying to remain as bent as she was.  As soon as she tried to relax, the noose tightened some more.  There was no winning this.

Then came the inevitable screaming, which was muffled behind the tape and the
underwear stuffed in her mouth.

“Settle down,”
he encouraged, “and breeeeeeeeathe.”  It took another full minute for her to stop screaming, and she only did so because her legs relaxed a little and the noose tightened, choking her voice off.  “The more you exert yourself the harder you make it on yourself, Ms. Rubashkin.  Now, are you ready to answer my questions?”  A few more whimpers.  “Are you?”  More whimpering, and finally, a resigned nod.  It was so slight.  She dared not even nod normally lest she strangle herself.

At last
.

The Grey Wolf took another toke, let it out slowly.  “You saw some things
while working at your last few photo shoots,” he accused directly.  “You saw some of the models you used to work with, and you saw them hanging out with their drug dealers, and you thought some of the girls were being forcibly put on the streets by these dealers.  These pimps.  And so, instead of asking the girls or the pimps themselves, you decided to go directly to the police, yes?”  Rubashkin did not move.  “This is where you nod.”  The girl trembled, then peed herself.  The piss spread slowly across the carpet behind her, and she nodded.  “Yes, we thought so.  And didn’t you also talk to the chief attorney’s office in Moscow by phone?”  Another whimper, and another nod.  “Of course you did.”

Shcherbakov leaned back in his seat again, took another long toke, and watched the urine stain crawl.  Rubashkin started to sob, her neck dropped a little and the rope pulled tighter.  She choked, and forced herself back into the bent position, arching her head as far as she could back towards her feet.

“Do you know, I could have helped you if you had gone directly to the girls or the pimps themselves and asked what was going on—we could have made
other
arrangements for you, arrangements that you would’ve found more agreeable, I’m sure—but you opted to forego asking anyone anything.  You disrespected them all by presuming you knew what was best, and so now here we are.”

For a few more minutes he watched her lie there, stricken to the bone by terror, until finally he sucked up the last of his cigarette and put the butt in his pocket.  No use leaving any more evidence for the forensics teams soon to come.  “All right,” he said.  “
What do you say we finish this?”  He stood and walked over to the duffel bag Zverev had left for him under his bed at the hotel.

The bag was large and full, and ought to have been heavy, except that Shcherbakov had always been gifted with considerable strength.  No gym membership necessary, no walks or jogs to keep the weight off. 
A metabolism most would have envied had been gifted to him by genetics, and it came with a package of hard thews and muscle.

He plopped the bag down behind Rubashkin where she couldn’t see, could only hear.  He unzipped it, and removed the first clear plastic tube.  Three large brown rats were inside.  If Zverev had done his job, they had been left starving for days on end.  Shcherbakov removed the plastic top at one end, but there was still a flimsy cardboard cap that the rats co
uld chew through in no time.  In fact, they had already started.

Without ceremony, and without lubrication, Shcherbakov went about inserting the end of the tube into
Ms. Rubashkin’s anus.  There were screams, but he softly reminded her that should she struggle much more, she would only choke herself to death.  Then, he used his father’s lighter to ignite a fuse at the back end of the tube.  Ten seconds later, a small patch of kindling on the inside of the tube lit up, and the rats ran from the flames, digging and clawing at the cardboard cap buried deep inside Ms. Rubashkin.

She wouldn’t survive long.  She might try to remain still, but with the rats clawing, biting, and tearing inside of her, she would soon choke herself.  Her agony would not be prolonged, but that wasn’t important.  What was important was sending a message.

In
The Godfather
, one of Shcherbakov’s favorite films, fish had been sent to the Corleone family to advise them that “Luca Brasi now sleeps with the fishes.”  By this time tomorrow, any other models that had been inspired by Vasilisa Rubashkin’s courageous plea to the police to help her friends would hopefully understand what happened to rats who squealed.

5

Semyon’s people had fanned out.  He’d watched Erik and Yulian hustle towards the two smaller sheds for cover, while Boris and Kirill darted around the shed with the Subaru still running inside.  For the moment, Abram and Anton remained behind the SUVs with Semyon.  But now, he gave them the thumbs up, and they both piled into Abram’s SUV and cranked it up, then drove off and tore around to the back side of the shed, and made a wide arc around the large cabin to the east, and finally circled around to the back of the lodge, where they would park and take up a guard at the rear, near the frozen lake.

This left Semyon alone behind his own SUV, occasionally peeking through the windows to see if he could spot any movement around the front of the lodge.  Once, he thought he spied a head bob up behind one window, but the flapping curtains on the inside, the growing darkness, and the increasing snow obfuscated
his line-of-sight.

Semyon checked his watch: 6:00
PM
on the dot. 
No, not much daylight left at all, especially out in this
.

The
dead whiteness, the frozen lake, and the silent, mournful woods made this place seem like some cursed land out of a storybook.  There were ample stories about the wildernesses surrounding Chelyabinsk, some involving spirits and hauntings.  Many said the lands here were unfit for habitation, owing to harsh weather, desolation, and stories about roving packs of starving wolves.  Semyon had heard such stories.  His father had believed the wolves were the angry spirits of this land, come to devour the wickedness of the living.

The wind howled angrily. 
It drove the snowdrifts up against the SUV and the lodge.  The sky was bleak and cloudy, not a ray of sun from any direction.  Semyon took one more peek over the hood of the van, then ducked back down and dug in another pocket for his radio.  Radios often worked better than phones way out here, and in such a storm.  The others had come prepared, as well.  As soon as he called out to Abram, the man responded.  “Go ahead.”

“Every
thing still looks the same here,” said Semyon.

“Same here.”

Semyon sighed.  “All right.  Everybody state readiness.  Over.”

“We’re ready in the rear, over.” said Abram.

“We’re all set over here,” came Boris, accounting for himself and Kirill.  “No movement from the windows that I can see.  Over.”

Yulian said, “Erik and I are all set.  No movement from our windows, either.  I
still hear loud music coming from inside, though.  Over.”

“All right.  Abram, Anton, fire off five shots each.  Yulian, Erik, when they finish, you fire off five shots each, as well.  Do you copy?”

“We copy,” said Abram.

“Got it,” said Yulian.

“All right, everyone.  This is it.”  He clipped the radio to the lapel of his coat, counted to three, then said, “
Execute, execute
.”

A second later, Semyon heard the sharp pops on the wind, a few more than just five shots, but what did it matter?  That would draw Pelletier’s attention to the back of the house.  Then Erik and Yulian also fired on the west side of the house, perhaps catching Pelletier and his people as they darted across the house to address
the threat at the rear.  At the very least, it probably got their heads down, and gave Semyon time to dart out from behind the SUV and run across the frozen yard.

He leapt over Timofei’s body without giving it a glance,
ran up the porch, his boots crunching on ice and glass.  He ignored Zakhar’s corpse lying there facedown, and pressed his back to the wall just beside the front door.

After a moment of silence, Semyon slowly hunkered down, and held his breath—the fog of his breath might attract attention if Pelletier were to peek out of
a window.  He kept one hand on his Makarov, aimed it at the nearest shattered window in case someone peeked their weapon out, and used his free hand to tap the alert button on the side of his radio just once.  Everyone else’s radio ought to be tweeting at that exact moment, sending them the message that he’d made it to the front door.

Inside, music was still blaring.  S
ome English rock band he didn’t know.  Combined with the wind and the curtains flapping in it, Semyon could not distinguish any single movement or noise coming from the inside.  He reached out with his gun hand and banged hard on the door four times, then backed away, before firing two rounds into the door.  One of the rounds blasted the deadbolt, sending out splinters.  He tapped the alert button on his radio twice, signaling that he’d done his part.

There were a few pops from the back of the house: Abram and Anton leading the charge.  Then, a few more pops from the west: Erik and Yulian drawing more attention.  Semyon turned and waved at the shed, and Boris and Kirill
darted out in low crouches, Uzis aimed at the windows, as they moved up onto the porch and disappeared around the corner to the east side.

Semyon tapped the alert button twice, which signaled the others to stop their shooting.  He waited patiently one minute, just listening to the wind howl.  Then, he tapped the alert button twice again, and the others opened fire.  When they did, both Boris and Kirill came around the corner of the lodge, ducking beneath the windows, and joined him.  Once they were alongside him, Semyon once more called off the salvo with two more beeps on his radio.

Inside, the music was still going, and just as loudly as ever.

Boris signaled what they’d found.  Semyon had selected
Boris to search the east side of the lodge because he’d also been involved in serious tactical military training, including room clearing and sweeping houses.  Boris held up his hand, indicating he had information.  He held his two index fingers out and drew a square in the air, and then signaled two fingers:
Two windows at the side
.  He made a big zero with his left hand and shook his head:
Nobody inside
.  Boris then cupped his hand to his left ear, then moved his fingers and thumb like a talking duck, and finally made a shake of his head:
I don’t hear anybody talking inside
.

Semyon nodded.  He now sent three beeps along the radio, telling the others he, Boris, and Kirill were all set to move and that they should stop firing.  It was now Abram’s show.  By doing the exact same thing
Semyon had, Abram and Anton would move up to the back door while Erik and Yulian fired a few more shots from the west.  This took about thirty seconds, until finally Semyon got the four beeps from Abram. 
They’re all ready at the rear
.

Semyon turned to Boris and pointed at him.  Semyon then patted his own head, and touched his chest:
You cover me
.  Then, he held his hand out in a C-shaped gesture:
It’s a crisis entry, no need to bother with stealth
.  Boris nodded the affirmative.  Hopefully, Kirill would follow their lead.

Now, Semyon made
five
more beeps with his radio.  Abram beeped him back five times.  Semyon nodded to the others, then began the countdown with a series of three beeps. 
One
…
two
…
three!
  On the third beep, he stood and moved around Zakhar’s body.  Semyon put his boot to the door.  A swift kick smashed it open, and they moved in quickly, storming the place.  Semyon nearly slipped in the blood, brains and melting snow as he moved across the kitchen.

At the back of the house, he heard the rear door smash open.  As they fanned across the living room, they could hear Abram and the others moving up the short hallway in the back.  They came into the living room and saw nothing out of place; nothing, that is, besides bullet holes punched into the walls, the tables, and some furniture.  A pair of bearskin rugs hung from rafters, and another massive one was sitting in front of a
crackling fire.

Semyon paused at the entrance to a hallway and signaled for Boris to check the corner.  “I’ve got deep,” said Boris, affirming that he had the hallway.  After doing a wide arc and a sneak-and-peek, he called, “Clear!”

“Turn that fucking music off!” Semyon screamed.  Kirill moved to obey.  Once it was done, they stood for a moment listening to the lodge creak occasionally because of the wind.

They moved around the corner and on down the hallway, Boris
was now the point man and Kirill right behind him.  Abram and Anton came down the hall and made brief eye contact with Semyon.  Semyon touched two fingers under his eyes and pointed towards the stairs, indicating they should go and search.  Abram nodded wordlessly and moved up the stairs with his Uzi at the ready, Anton close behind.

As they left the living room, Semyon’s eyes did one last quick sweep.  There wasn’t much to see here, no real place to hide.  However, his eyes did absorb an extra piece of information
. Dust was falling down on the fire crackling away in the fireplace, but his brain didn’t decode that bit of information fast enough and he followed after Kirill and Boris.

Kaley heard them storm the house, their feet like distant thunder on the floors beneath.  But long before she heard them coming up the stairs, long before she heard them smash open the door, and even before they had sent a volley of bullets into the lodge, she had felt them coming.  Little gnats in her spider web, only somehow in this instance the spider wasn’t able to move, and all the little gnats were.

“
She’s afraid
,” whispered the voice in her bones and on the wind.  “
Others are hunting her
. 
We must find her first!
”

Something moved in the water.  It moved past her, slithered under the bed where the boy was still hiding, then swam out the other side and climbed up the walls, tasting the picture frames which held old black-and-white photographs of stern-looking men and women assembled around a fireplace, kind of like the fireplace downstairs, but not the same one.  The family of the dead man Zakhar, presumably.  There was a tentacle tasting that family’s portrait, and, at times, even swimming into it, as though interacting with the figures inside, all while water continually cascaded down from nowhere.  “
Find her!  Find her!
”

At school, Kaley would have been safe and sound.  But impossibly, her physical body was here now, and her telepresent form was back in the
girls’ bathroom of CMS, shivering.  Very soon now, Mrs. Cartwright would send someone to check the bathroom, or else would come herself.  And what might she do if she found Kaley there and reached out to grab her?  What might she do once her hand passed through the apparition of her student?

Water climbed both up and down the walls of the bathroom, too.  Kaley looked down at her feet, saw things swimming in that foaming water and somehow disappearing back below, even though it couldn’t be any great depths—her feet were touching the bathroom tile, as well as the
pinewood floor; only the pinewood felt real, whereas the tile was slippery.

When the bedroom door was smashed open, Kaley jolted.  When she did, one of those tentacles turned its attention back towards her, and slithered back around her leg.  She didn’t look—she didn’t want to look—but it felt like it was licking as high as her knees.

The man leading the others was stout-looking.  He filled out his bulky jacket completely.  There was a no-nonsense look on his face, yet he also held an avuncular look that Kaley could almost relate to.  And she
did
relate.  How could she not, considering who she was?  The alpha of the group was a family man; she detected that in him at once.  His emotions flashed from paranoia to worry and back to paranoia again.  But in that brief battle with worry, Kaley found sympathy, and something familial.  The man had a daughter, of that she had no doubt.  She’d tasted enough of fathers’ love for their daughters to know this at once.  It was no different than touching the callused hands of a man; you knew that he worked hard for something, and that all other men with those same calluses must work equally hard.

His heart is callused with worry for his daughter
. 
He’s worked so hard to keep her safe
.

But the man was a professional, and, backed by his fellow professionals, he had to remain strong in front of them.  As he eased towards her, Kaley remained the very definition of statue.  He said
just three words, and in near-perfect English.  “Where is he?”  For a moment, Kaley didn’t know whether he was talking about Spencer or the boy.  At the moment, she didn’t dare give up either, for fear of losing the other.  As despicable as he was, Spencer was the only creature present that was willing to face these men.

Unless he’s left us
, she thought.

“
Oh, he’s left you all right
,” delighted the voice.

Oh no
…
no
…
it can hear me?  Please tell me it can’t hear me
.
Please, God, tell me it can’t
…

“
Ohhhhh-ho-ho-ho, we hear just fine
. 
We’re getting closer
—”