Powerless (The Girl in the Box Book 40), page 13
“For tonight, if you could, please,” I said. “If I keep him with me, I'm going to end up putting him down.” I looked past her and found Traverton, watching with eyes wide. “He's old, you know. Euthanizing might be the humane option.”
“Not cool, man,” Traverton muttered.
“You'll be fine with Olivia for a night,” I said. “And you and I need a cooling off period, Traverton. We're not good for each other, and if I'm going to protect you, it shouldn't have to include protecting you from myself. Let's take a break and try again tomorrow, when I'm fully rested.” I leaned in to Olivia. “If he gives you any trouble...”
“Oh, if he tries anything, he'll end up in low earth orbit,” she said, apparently unbothered by the prospect of having Traverton, the strangest of men, in her home for the evening. “I was just hoping...y'know...we could...”
“I'm not in a great place to connect and hang out right now, Olivia,” I said. “If Traverton wasn't acting like a drag parachute on my mental health and the State of Minnesota wasn't dedicated to the prospect of tranquilizing me, I'd probably be more receptive. As it is...” I shook my head, leaving the emotion unvoiced. I doubted she'd get it anyway.
“Oh, okay,” Olivia said, but there was no hiding her disappointment. I felt as though I'd stabbed the poor girl in the heart and was watching it all bleed out over her chest. Her face had certainly paled enough to suggest she was losing blood.
I dickered with my phone, summoning up a rideshare app and ordering one to my location. To my surprise and pleasure, Tom in his Ford Fusion was only five minutes away. “Great, our driver is on the way,” I said to Aniya. “We should head out.”
“See you tomorrow, then?” Olivia asked, following after me as I threaded my way around that damned pillar to the door.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed, Aniya trailing in my wake. I tried not to let the disappointment exuding off Olivia follow me, but it did. All the way down the stairs and out into the parking lot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“You don't talk a lot,” I said into the silence of Tom's car, “and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that.”
Tom grunted. He was in his mid-fifties, bearded, with the eyes of a cranky old man. None of this was a bad thing, at least to me, but I imagined some sunny introvert climbing into his vehicle and literally dying of neglect on the way to their destination. Tom, though, he was my kind of driver.
I looked to my right and found Aniya still looking at me, but in a disinterested sort of way. “That goes for you, too, I guess.”
“In the company you keep, silence is preferable,” Aniya said.
I tried to figure out what she meant by that, but she hadn't given me quite enough to go on. “What do you mean?”
She smiled, very slightly. “Any words thrown before the fool – Traverton, I think? Would be wasted. He does not hear his own stupidity, let alone wisdom in the words of others.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“And as for your comrade...she is very young.”
“She's only a few years younger than me,” I said distractedly. Empty fields were passing outside the window, and the sun was shedding an amber light over them as it threatened to set. This being Minnesota, and summer time, it was still an hour or three away, but the light was starting to look right for it.
“Yet her demeanor is that of a tiny puppy,” Aniya said, looking out the window for herself. “By years actually lived, conscious and above ground, I am not so much older than you.”
Tom sat up a little straighter in the front seat, but didn't ask the question most normal people would have been dying to ask. Good call, Tom. He was definitely getting five stars from me.
“I think the years you spent buried might have shaped your worldview a little,” I said glibly. I felt myself trying to avoid the gaping suckhole that was Aniya. I didn't want to be drawn into...well, anything with her.
“The years I spent before that had more to do with it,” she said, and stared at me with cold eyes. “I listen to your friend, Olivia. She is a perfect emblem of everything I see wrong in these days. Total focus on herself.”
“She does pretty well at her job,” I said. “That requires external focus.”
“In my time, we would sooner die than admit weakness,” Aniya sneered. “She carries her weakness openly, for all to see. It is a hallmark of your society.”
“I'll admit it's not my favorite thing about millennials,” I said. “Sure, we could use a little more steely reserve. Yes, we're prone to overshare. That's not great. But as I understand the Russian system you grew up in was all lies, top to bottom. Everybody hid everything. Everybody lied.”
“And everybody betrayed everyone else,” Aniya said softly. “It was the way of our world.”
“Your prize for betraying others and being betrayed in turn: a one-way trip to a concentration camp,” I said. “Or rather...a Gulag. Almost the same difference. Tell me...what kind of labor did they have you doing?”
“Whatever kind was needed by the Rodina,” Aniya said. “That means–”
“The Motherland,” I said. “Roughly.”
“You seem to know some of our words, some of our history,” Aniya said. “I have interacted with Americans since I...woke up. Did you know this?”
“No,” I said. “Who did you speak with?”
“Reporters,” she said. “In person. On the phone. Over your internet. They are like this Olivia. Shallow. Vapid. No thought of their own beneath the surface. You can see in their eyes they know nothing.” She shook her head. “I think this internet is a bad invention. Sum total knowledge of humanity to this point in your pockets, and you people bother to learn nothing because if you need it is always there.”
Tom grunted in the front seat. Apparently he strongly agreed with her sentiment.
I couldn't find much fault with it, either. My phone lit up; Ariadne was calling. I sent it to voicemail and caught Aniya looking at it, though she showed little interest. “I take it these reporters came in unprepared?”
“Their knowledge of my life before the burial could fit in a thimble,” Aniya said. “They come to interview me, and they know nothing of the world I inhabited?” She shook her head. “It is as though the years from 1917 to 1980 barely happen in your history books. They do not teach these things in your schools?”
“Wouldn't know. I didn't go to the state schools. But they probably didn't do a deep dive on it, no.”
“Then it is just as your newspapers covered the millions who died at the time,” Aniya said with disgust. “With...how you say? Kid gloves?”
“They didn't cover it, in point of fact,” I said. “I mean...famously, the New York Times reporter they sent wrote glowing pieces about how the entire communist revolution was working. He won a Pulitzer for it. And either failed to notice or just neglected to mention that millions were dying as he sung the virtues of Stalin and the Soviet system.”
“Walter Duranty,” Tom muttered, “that sumbitch. They ought to take his Pulitzer back posthumously.”
“Whoa, steady there, Tom,” I said. “It's not like he's Milli Vanilli, he actually wrote the piece. He just got it all horribly wrong. Snookered by the Soviets.”
“It is a continuing trend. Your country is ignorant of what happened in mine,” Aniya said.
I checked my phone. We were still twenty minutes from our destination. “Well, we've got a few minutes. You want to indulge in a little 'story time'?”
“I will tell you a tale, all right,” Aniya said. “One of betrayal and deceit. Of–”
“Just get to it already, will you?” I asked, wishing I had sunglasses to put on so I could hide the fact I wanted to close my eyes. “No point in going all sturm and drang beforehand.”
“Very well,” Aniya said. “My story continues in–”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Aniya
1938
“Did Volk treat you all right?” Commandant Alekseev asked, his eyes rimmed with deep concern. I was in his office overlooking the single street running through the Elgen Camp.
I looked behind me to see the mountainous guard's dark eyes finding me as he shut the door behind him. I was now alone with the commandant. And his eyes.
“He said nothing to me,” I said. “Did nothing.”
“Good,” Alekseev said, nodding, a pleasant smile upon his fat lips. He slid one of the chairs across from the desk to face the other, and beckoned for me to sit. “You have had a long journey to reach us here, Aniya.”
I took his invitation and sat, folding the edges of my threadbare dress beneath me. It was my sole piece of clothing, and there had not been camp clothing yet appropriate for me. “It has been long, yes,” I said, averting my eyes from his. Mother had warned me about men like this commandant.
“These are difficult times,” Alekseev said, his lips turning into thin lines, his eyes not leaving mine. His intensity played out across his face. “There are traitors all around us, of course. The work of our glorious revolution is not yet complete and yet wreckers and saboteurs...” He stopped, then chuckled.
I sat, my back upright and straight. “These wreckers are the worst kind of scum,” I said, for it was the party line. And how I felt at the time.
Alekseev chuckled again. “Aniya...you need not be this way with me.”
I looked away, afraid to look right at him. “I don't understand.”
“I have looked in your eyes.” His fingers touched my chin as he reached across to me. He lifted my face up. “I noticed them immediately when you came here. Do you know what I saw?” He brought his other hand around in a slow line, as if indicating a wide sea. “I saw dead women. Their souls had already left their bodies. Their minds were no longer with them, for they were but focused on surviving this day, and the next. There is a darkness that befalls a person when they reach that level. They become...animal, not human. There is no light in their eyes, for there is no hope. You could put them in a cage, lead them about by a chain, and they would be indistinguishable in action from a trained dog.” He snapped his fingers. “Eat. Lay down. Stay. There is no spark left in them.”
He shifted in his seat and looked me in mine, a peculiar smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But in your eyes I see that you are still awake. That the intelligence that separates man from beast still exists. And after your long journey, no less. This is not a small accomplishment; the Gulags are meant to take men down to the lowest level, for only in breaking them can we consider rebuilding them anew, into the...New Soviet Man. And woman.” He chuckled at the last part, as though this was a concept worthy of humor or ridicule.
“I...” Unsure what to say, I erred on the side of flattery. “...Thank you for your kind words, Comrade.”
“In any other camp,” Alekseev said, “that look of intelligence in your eyes would be taken as defiance. You should be careful with it around the guards. I am issuing orders for them to tread lightly upon you, but there are limits even to my power. You understand?”
“No,” I said, deciding honesty would be best.
He chuckled, and leaned closer, hand finding my shoulder. “There is more than intelligence in your eyes, Aniya. There is an...innocence, too. Peculiar given all that I am sure you have seen by this point.” He brushed the back of his hand, slightly calloused at the knuckles, against my cheek. “I have seen little of that commodity in recent years. I would not see it destroyed if it could be avoided.” He stood, and I sensed our interview was over. “Volk will escort you to the doctor for a routine exam. And he will make sure that you are...treated appropriately.” Alekseev turned. “It will be quite comprehensive, so you need not be afraid. Nothing bad will happen to you, he is just being...thorough. Volk!”
I was left to contemplate what that meant, but the door opened and the large guard with the dark eyes re-entered. He beckoned me, and I went to him. When I reached the door, the commandant called out once more.
“Oh, and Aniya?” Alekseev asked. “Best to keep our conversations to yourself.” He smiled, but this one was different, as though there were worries on his mind that I could not perceive. “I would not want them misinterpreted. They might reflect...badly on me. For showing charity to an enemy of the Motherland.”
“I heard the last camp commandant was shot for that,” I said, for it was a rumor that had come to me.
“It is true,” Alekseev said, but the mirth was gone from his eyes, replaced with a grimmer look, one I had not seen from him yet. “But that is a story for another time, I think. Take care with yourself, Aniya.”
“Yes, commandant,” I said, and Volk showed me out into the snow, where I was left to contemplate what that meant in my walk to the camp doctor's office.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sienna
Tom didn't bother to announce our arrival, just grunted in the middle of Aniya's story after throwing his Ford into park. We were in front of a hotel in Eden Prairie, under the portico, so maybe Tom figured that was enough to clue us in that we'd arrived.
I caught it, Aniya didn't, and I held up a hand to shush her right after her dramatic exit from the commandant's office. “We'll have to put a pin in this,” I said. “To be continued.”
Aniya cocked her head at me. “I do not know what you are saying much of the time. You are stranger than I thought you would be.”
“A common lament,” I said, then gestured at the door handle. “See you tomorrow.”
“Will you be picking me up, then?” Aniya asked.
“No, I think you can find your way,” I said. “Have the front desk clerk call you a cab if need be. You've got pocket money, right?”
“Yes,” she said, bristling. “But that money I gave you earlier...that was not 'pocket money.'”
“You're right about that,” I said, perhaps a little smugly. “Because we wouldn't be having this conversation if it was.” I flexed my fingers in a little wave. “Bye.”
Aniya looked at me uncertainly, just for a moment, then opened the door. She got out, and looked back at me, watching me watch her, taking inventory of the expression on my face. It must have been a little disconcerting, because she glanced back a couple times as she walked away, disappearing into the hotel, the automatic whooshing shut behind her.
Whew. Good. The last thing I needed right now was another puppy following me around.
“I thought she'd never shut up and get out,” Tom grunted.
“You and me both,” I said, once I was sure she was inside and couldn't hear me. Tom pressed the accelerator and we lapsed into silence as he took me home. Five stars.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ariadne's house was dead silent when I got back. She was still in Salt Lake City and would be until Friday. With Harry gone, the place was ghostly, and I wondered if I'd made a mistake by casting out Traverton. After all, if he'd stayed in animal form, it might have been nice to have some companionship.
No. To hell with that. No need for potential betrayals, Brianna opined.
“Agreed,” I said, removing my bra with a zeal that men probably reserved for popping the cork on champagne right before they got laid. “What a day.” Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since I'd gotten unceremoniously dumped?
I changed into sweatpants and made my way upstairs to the kitchen. Sure, there was some stuff in the basement fridge, but I liked Ariadne's food better, and she had invited me to eat whatever the hell I wanted from it while she was gone. It probably wouldn't be good when she got back, after all.
Attacking the remains of a casserole she'd made before departing, I sat in front of the TV downstairs and watched the local news. I wondered if there'd be a mention of my fight in the bank parking lot, and sure enough, there was. It had all the basics, too: Sienna Nealon fought here; Minnesota legislators are concerned at this rash of metahuman violent activity.
“I'm concerned about that, too,” I said, taking a bite of casserole. “Mainly because it's affecting me more than any of the rest of you mad asshatters.”
“This is just so scary,” a woman with a broad Minnesota accent was saying, a microphone shoved in her face. “I mean, I bank here all the time. What if my kids got caught up in it?” She was wearing sunglasses, but her face was pinched to leave me suspecting that in spite of her protestations about her kids, she was really using them as cover for the fact she was a total bitch and worried about her own life. “It's just too dangerous.”
“Yeah, I'll just exile myself to Antarctica or something because you're afraid I'm going to...what? Destroy your entire family?” I stood, thumping the couch and nearly knocking it over backward with the force of my rise. “Honestly, I think sometimes these people are actively wishing I would just die so that they could get back to living their ordinary, pre-metahuman lives. As if that'd just return the fricking genie back to the bottle and everything would be okay again.”
It's a natural response, Brianna said. You look for the thing that afflicts you and you remove it. If there's a bee in your bonnet, you get rid of the bee. When they turn on the news and see you destroyed a bank parking lot that day...
“I didn't destroy a parking lot,” I said. “I maybe damaged a rental car in said parking lot. And the fact is, whatever I'm doing is generally in response to someone else trying to do worse.”
I know this.
“I'm just venting, Brianna, let me get it out.” I swept over to the basement fridge and opened it, looking for...something. I shut it again in dissatisfaction. “It drives me up the fricking wall, these people. They exist in the most coddled society humanity has ever seen. Food miraculously shows up in stores, no need to hunt for it or grow it. Barbarian hordes don't sweep through their towns to destroy, pillage, and loot, which was a real concern at various points in history. And if they hate the so-called most powerful woman in the world, they can go on Socialite and talk the biggest lines of shit about her without fear she's going to come to their homes in the night and slaughter them. Things are so damned good people have lost all perspective.”
