Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Ten: Death Drive

It wasn’t until two years later that our paths crossed again. God only knew where he retired to for that length of time. I felt ill to imagine they imprisoned him in solitary confinement for that long: four claustrophobic grey walls, deprivation of light and minimal food. I shuddered.

When we met again, I’d reached the ripe age of fifteen.

A metal hand on my shoulder that pinched like a crab’s claw and I was whirled around like the ebbing current of a stream. I was snatched in the hallway, yanked through the doorway and shepherded into a dark room.

As instantaneously as my fearful instinct snapped into play, so activated my defence training. I made a kick at the figure pinning me to the wall and knocked him back. I poised myself, squinting at the darkness, fists raised to my mouth, serving as a barricade to my face.

“Gee, kid, you have some kick there...” A voice whined, giving a low hissing groan.

With a whirr, lights flicked on: the bulbs gave a few experimental flickers as the new part of the facility was lit: but the familiar face was illuminated. His skin was still marred with the injuries of the day that we had served together, but freshly stitched with metal thread: weaving the shreds of his cheek together. His hair, it had grown: his fringe reached beneath his ears: feathered into his face. It blotted out his eyes intermittently, as it fanned uncontrollably and curled towards his eyes.

“Sir?” I cooed, my fists shrinking away and dangling at my sides.

“What year is it?” My guardian angel uttered, eyes framed with dark circles and lips chapped and split.

“Nineteen fifty-something...” I responded, unable to provide any clear marker of time.

“I’ve been out five years... At leasst” He smothered his face with his grubby hands and dropped to his knees with desolation.

“ Are you alright?”  I inched forward as if approaching a wild stallion.

“Yes ... No ...” He sighed deep, when he unmasked his hands, his face was covered with tears. “Sorry... Do you speak English?” The man stumbled in my language.

“A small bit...” I managed to spit out. “I told you before...” I admitted fearfully. “What happened to you you?” I walked cautiously towards the troubled man, taking my care, fearful of his secretive intentions.

“I’ll be honest with you, kid... I ain’t sure.” His lip quivered as he fought to restrain the tears. He looked up at me through his curled dark lashes, eyes weepy with water and pain written across his face.

“You have a name?” I pried, hoping to finally get it out of him. I took his lithe calloused hands in mine, in some attempt to console him through his scattered anguish. The metal plates were odd on my skin: disjointed, craggy and smooth like a pebble on the beach. But so cold: icy to the touch, inherited from the inhospitably cold surroundings in the base.

He shook his head at me, eyes downcast, with that same soppiness: that same humanity that I hadn’t seen echoed in another soul that dwelled in the dingy walls of the facility.

“How come? Everyone has a name...” I soothed in a tentative voice, daring to lace my fingers with his and smooth his trembling hands. “Any guesses?” I articulated with hesitance.

“You’re too little to understand, angel... Sorry, what is your name?” He cupped his hands over mine, cradling them and forcing a smile. He had a sinfully sensual smile.

“I’m fifteen, not little...” I babbled in disjointed English.  “Natalia Alianovna Romanova... That’s what I told you...” I explained. “What is it you wanted, sir?”