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

CHAPTER TWO

G
radually the brown colors of the drab train car floated together into shapes that made sense.

Blaire emerged sluggishly into consciousness like a
sea
-bound castaway finally trudging unto shore. Her face was immediately drawn to the window to find the little girl, there was nothing but the gray
graffiti
-stained cement of the train station.

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last five minutes. We’re here,” Travis said, jumping from his seat as the train came to a sudden stop, causing him to tumble sideways before catching himself.

“Be careful,” Blaire said with a giggle, doing her best to shake off the disturbing dream.

Travis brought their bags down from the overhead compartment, and the pair lumbered out onto the dilapidated platform. Within a few moments, the other two passengers on the train shuffled off into opposite directions, disappearing quietly like ghosts slipping back into their graves before sunrise. The American pair studied the dry fields and neglected buildings. No life, no
laughter
—and no employee from St. Sebastian to pick them up as United Care promised.

“So, this is Borslav…” Travis sighed, as he plopped down on a cement bench tagged with vulgarity. Blaire sat, deeply inhaling the thick, musky air. It took more effort to breathe here. If she stuck her tongue out, Blaire was sure she would be able to taste the salt from the sea that loitered in the invisible particles of air all around her.

“Maybe, they’re just late.”

Borslav was no Kerchaviv. It was
Chernobyl
-like, miserable and secluded with the faint pulse of previous life still vibrating through its damaged carcass of crumbling buildings and forgotten items, a dismal reminder of lives left behind in the fire. In the West the sun drooped, and the sneaking golden light was seeping through each crack of town, anesthetizing everything it touched.

A man stumbled out of an unlit hole of a building and proceeded clumsily down one of the town streets before vanishing again.

After fifteen minutes Blaire was forced to give up her theory that the delay of their rendezvous with the welcoming committee was the product of mere tardiness.

“Do you know the name of the person who’s supposed to be meeting us?” Travis stood up and stretched.

“I know that once we get to St. Sebastian, we are supposed to be meeting Marko Anglov. He’s the director, but I don’t think he is the one who is supposed to pick us up.” Blaire peered down the littered platform again, for the first time noticing that each and every sign on it was covered in spray paint rendering them almost impossible to read. By now the train heading back to Kerchaviv was long gone, and there were no more expected that day.

“Are you getting anything?” Blaire said, as Travis held his cell phone up to the sky.

“Not a single, solitary bar, and yours?”

Blaire reached for her phone and held it toward the diminishing light.

“Nothing,” Blaire said. She fished through her bag for her cigarettes, as Travis strolled down to the end of the platform. Through a comforting curtain of smoke, Blaire watched Travis pace back and forth, examining the streets in every direction.

He leaned back, lifted his head high, and yelled, “Hello!” Travis then turned to make his way back to Blaire, “I think it’s safe to say that no one is coming for us.”

“I think you’re right.” Blaire smashed her cigarette into the cement, and then tossed it into a nearby garbage can.

“Well, I know that St. Sebastian sits at the edge of town on the water, and, judging from the breeze, I would guess that it’s this way,” Blaire said, pointing north.

Travis listened intently, and then looked around for a moment. “You’re right,” he said, gesturing toward a
graffiti
-tagged sign upon which Blaire could make out the word
Beach
and an arrow that pointed north.

“Let’s go then.” Blaire grabbed her bags.

While walking the cracked pavement in the heart of the town, they noticed that Borslav was even more derelict at its center. For late afternoon, the place was unnervingly quiet. Every so often a resident crept along the street, offering them only a peculiar expression.

“Excuse me,” Blaire called to a woman who sat in a folding chair in front of a shop with closed shutters. “Can you tell me where St. Sebastian is?”

The woman’s expression didn’t change as it seemed cemented into her face, even as she raised her finger and pointed north.

“Thank you,” Blaire said, as they continued on their current path.

A few moments later, they ran into another towner, who had his coat raised high above his neck, halfway covering his face.

“Hello,” Blaire said as the man looked at her strangely, his eyes wide as if he were trying to see something in the dark, although it was still light outside. He kept walking without a word.

“Guess they’re not used to tourists around here,” Blaire said.

“I’ve received worse looks from better people than these,” Travis responded. “Now we’re talkin!” He pointed down one of the side streets at what appeared to be a pub at the end of the block.

A faded sign above the door announced the establishment as Berek’s Beer House.

Just outside the entry several boisterous men spoke noisily over upbeat music that flooded into the street.

“Looks like a great party,” Travis laughed as he spoke.

By the time they reached the far end of town, Blaire was exhausted. Looking into the distance, she spotted an ominous building and pointed it out to Travis.

“That’s it?” Travis’ voice struck a
high
-pitched note.

“Has to be.”

There was a moment of deep silence as they both took in the sight of the decaying structure that was to be their new home.

“Well, I have never met a celebrity before.” Travis spoke just above a whisper, breaking the hush.

Blaire turned a questioning eye to him before her stare was summoned back to the odd edifice.

“Do you think we’ll actually get to meet Count Dracula during our stay in his home?” Travis said with a chuckle, noting the iron grating that lined the perimeter of the roof, good for impaling peasants.

Blaire snickered, “It’s not
that
bad.” She adjusted her shoulder bag and marched forward.

“Yeah, right.” Travis grumbled, hanging back to eye the pathetic place for a few seconds longer.

Despite the brisk summer weather, Travis and Blaire had broken a sweat by the time they reached the
gravel
-covered circular driveway of the massive property. Across the lawn Blaire spotted something, rocking awkwardly on the currents of a particularly robust breeze. She stopped and allowed her bag to fall to the ground. Crossing the lawn, Blaire suddenly felt surrounded by the children she had yet to meet. She knelt down to pick up what she assumed to be a broken toy. As her fingertips grazed the head of the decapitated doll, she felt all of the invisible children plunge away. Looking around, Blaire saw that there were no other toys anywhere on the property.

“You okay?” Travis called out.

“Dolly,” Blaire mumbled.

“What?”

Blaire held up the head of the doll, which had the name
Dolly
scribbled across the top of the forehead in black marker.

“This is no time to play dolls, Blaire.” Travis’ eyes twinkled as he made his way over to her.

“Ha, ha,” Blaire said though she was not amused.

Only a few scraps of hair remained on Dolly’s head, leaving a mostly bald surface that displayed numerous round pores from which heavy blonde ringlets once sprouted. Blaire ripped off the clear plastic that was wrapped tightly around Dolly’s head, suffocating her. One of Dolly’s eye sockets popped open, revealing a periwinkle blue eye.

A grimace spread across Travis’ face. “I thought these kids were just homeless, not crazy.”

A breeze carried the voices of the children from St. Sebastian, they snaked through the trees and wrapped themselves around Blaire, and she returned her attention to the building. Dropping the gruesome doll head back to the ground, Blaire grabbed her bags and caught up to Travis who was almost at the front door.

After knocking for nearly ten minutes, Travis sat down on his luggage.

“I don’t believe this,” Blaire said, huffing as she leaned up against the step railing. “Just a few minutes ago, we could hear movement and laughter.”

“And now it’s completely quiet. I am about ready to buy a ticket back to the United States.” Travis arched the side of his mouth in skeptical mocking, as he got up and leaned out over the side of the covered stone porch trying to see into one of the windows.

A “HELLO” reverberated off the walls, and left Travis’ lungs depleted.

“I’ll go check around back.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“No. Stay here just in case someone comes to the door.” Blaire slipped off the porch and around the side of the building.

“Hello!” She heard Travis yell again as he banged on the door.

Blaire walked alongside the building, passing a crumbling shed, and then coming to the backyard that opened up to about half the size of a football field. It was bordered on the other side by a rocky cliff that dropped off to an isolated beach.

Blaire jogged to the edge of the cliff and watched as waves crashed upon the archipelago of oversized rocks that broke up the smooth landscape of sand.

At one end of the oversized yard, a small cottage stood. In front of the cottage, a massive tree thrived, and a few yards to the right of it was a bench that sat next to a
life
-size cement statue of the Virgin Mary. Much further down the beach, Blaire spotted a small home that sat close to the cliff, but she would hardly have called them neighbors of the orphanage. Besides these mute companions, St. Sebastian was alone up here. Blaire turned from the shore, noticing for the first time the huge piece of litter that had once been a pool. She curled her lips in disgust.

Turning back to the sea, somehow the idea that working in this secluded place would be fulfillment of a dream was again recaptured, and she brushed off the improbability of the setting and laughed to herself. Mingled into hers she found the laughter of another. It grew louder, bellowing against hers like lumps of dense oil plopping into water, and then melting seamlessly into a soft giggling.

Blaire turned back to St. Sebastian. “Hello?”

On the other side of the pool, a little girl stood, her back facing Blaire. Her height alone told Blaire that she could not have been any older than eight. The girl wore a
ruffle
-drowned lavender dress that must have once been a prized possession, but was now little more than a rag. Her head tilted downward as she spoke to someone. Blaire took long strides to get closer. Auburn curls that rarely saw a comb were drawn up tightly around the girl’s neck.

“Excuse me.” Blaire called, but the child was unbothered. Delicately peeking over the girl’s shoulder, Blaire noticed a small flight of steps at the end of which was a red door that led to a basement under the building.

“Excuse me,” Blaire said touching the girl’s shoulder. The child snapped her head back to look at Blaire. Her eyes were covered with a milky white film, two purplish circles peering out blindly. Under her eyes the skin sagged as if she had never slept a day in her life. Her juvenile facial features were twisted in terror as if she had seen something that she could not
un
-see, something for which eyes were unnecessary.

“Ida?” the little
lavender
-clothed girl called out the name, as she lifted her shaking hand toward Blaire. Though the girl could not see Blaire’s chocolate brown hair, her full lips, or the deep amber hue of her skin, the girl’s
film
-stricken eyes poured over Blaire and the young teacher was sure that no one had ever seen her more clearly.

Blaire took a gentle hold of the lavender girl’s hand. “No, my name is Ms. Baker. What’s your name?” The girl looked back down the cement steps into the shadowy square of darkness then back to Blaire, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Dariya.”

“It’s nice to meet you Dariya. Did you hear me calling to you?”

“Kind of,” the girl whispered, scratching her neck furiously like a
flea
-ridden puppy.

Blaire looked down at the door. “Did you hear something down there?”

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?” Blaire asked. Dariya leaned in close to Blaire who, in turn, bent further to hear, their faces now only inches apart.

“I heard it in here,” the child confided, the last word almost whistled in a breathy hiss as Dariya pointed her index finger to her temple. Blaire followed the child’s penetrating gaze as it went back down the stairs, and both of their attentions were now focused squarely on the ominous door.

“Who are you?” a voice commanded.

A petite,
dark
-haired woman with a wicked scowl etched into her face was suddenly standing behind Dariya.

“Blaire,” the young woman blurted out, gripping her chest in surprise. “Blaire Baker. I’m from United Care. I’m here with another volunteer, Travis Wells. We’re supposed to start today. Marko Anglov is expecting us.”

Without a word, the woman grabbed Dariya and pulled her away from Blaire, back toward the front of the building.

“Is she okay?” Blaire asked the woman, thinking Dariya seemed weak and barely able to keep up.

“Dariya is fine.”

“What was she doing out here?”

The emotionless woman stopped, faced Blaire, and spoke, “You are early.” She said before turning briskly and hustling around the corner of the building, leaving Blaire to take in the curtness of her comments.

Blaire was quick on the woman’s heels. “Early? I don’t think so. Today is the seventh, and we were expected on the seventh. Can I speak with Mr. Anglov?”

Wrestling Dariya up the steps to the front door, the
pinch
-faced woman turned back to Blaire one last time.