The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) (4 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

S
pecks of blood trailed toward the closed door. “Travis?” Blaire could barely make out her own inaudible whisper. She reached for the knob and pulled the door open swiftly.

“Hey,” Travis said, quickly returning his attention to the leg he was nursing with bandages and some clear liquid.

“Good morning,” Blaire responded, disoriented from her hangover.

She was almost sickened by the perky composure of Petro and Soreena. Travis, on the other hand, appeared to have been run over by the same Mack truck that had mangled her, which gave her some comfort. Strong tea was brewing in the kitchen, and Blaire inhaled as much of the rousing aroma as her lungs would allow.

“What happened to your leg?” Blaire sat down in the nearest chair.

“I hit it on the edge of that bed.”

“Again, I’m so sorry for that,” Soreena said.

“Not your fault if I can’t watch where I’m going.” Travis worked on finishing up his expert bandaging.

“How did you sleep?” Petro asked.

“Like a rock,” Blaire’s voice was still dry.

After a quick breakfast, they lumped into Petro’s truck and headed to the edge of town. Soreena stayed behind, seeing them off with a wave from the porch.

The morning light’s honesty revealed the true state of Borslav. Rundown roads caused them to bounce violently in the cab of Petro’s truck. Buildings seemed to crumble before Blaire’s eyes. A dilapidated sign told her that what was once the Bank of Borslav was now just a heap of slouching bricks separated by rotting window frames.

It wasn’t long before St. Sebastian came into view, frowning like a bitter, old, country widow as Petro’s truck bumped up the driveway. Blaire noticed another
tell
-tale feature of the old place; slumped on the side of the porch steps was a broken pogo stick, a tribute to the decay of fun and freedom. A severe jerk of the truck brought it to a stop in a location undesirably far from the front door. Petro’s focus never wavered from the building, and it was clear that he had no intention of getting any closer.

“Thanks Petro!” Travis yelled through the back truck window as he yanked the last piece of luggage from the rusting bed.

“Good luck,” Petro offered as he floored the gas pedal, shooting out the driveway. Blaire and Travis stood motionless with all of their bags in the small storm of rock dust. There in the pit of Blaire’s stomach sat an unfamiliar sadness as she watched Petro’s truck disappear down the road, feeling as if she were watching the last train from Borslav pulling out yet again.

“Not again!” Travis lowered himself to sit on his luggage as Blaire rang the bell a third time.

“Don’t worry,” Blaire said, reassuring him. “I have a good feeling about today.” They both turned to the door after hearing the heavy lock flip.

The door opened to the same
maroon
-lipped woman that Blaire encountered the day before.

“Hello…again, I’m Blaire Baker and this is Travis Wells; we met yesterday. I think Marko is expecting us
today
.” She spoke merrily, despite the scrap of disdain she developed for the woman overnight. Killing people with kindness was so difficult for Blaire sometimes. It would have been much easier to use a samurai sword.

“I am Vesna. Marko is not here, but he will be back soon. Come, I will show you to your room,” Vesna said with the cutting precision of someone doling out the rules for deadly gladiator games, within which, one mistake could be fatal. After hoisting up two of their heavy bags, Vesna turned and proceeded down the hall. Blaire’s eyes were drawn to the stained, forest green carpet, freckled with dots of black carpet and fringed at the edge of every doorway that bordered the hall.

Blaire watched the back of Vesna’s head as the petite woman marched down the hall with military exactitude. Her brown hair was combed and swept into a football helmet of a style that she had obviously worn with pride for many years. The helmet was doused in holding spray that fortified it at the roots and did not allow even a strand of abused hair to fall out of line. Vesna seemed like the type of woman who kept her family much like she kept her hair.

Blaire turned to Travis who raised his eyebrows in a mischievous expression as he picked up the remaining bags and followed obediently. St. Sebastian was clean, though it would not have passed U.S. inspection of the same type of facility. Paint peeled, and there were places where the walls appeared to have taken a punch or two.

On both sides of them, the stained walls were lined with framed black and white photographs that portrayed a St. Sebastian that Blaire hardly recognized. In one photo a young lady in a pressed white uniform dress stood under an enormous tree holding a plump baby girl donned in a small white gown and ruffled socks. Tight dark curls framed the woman’s face, and her large round eyes stared out of the picture. Another showed manicured ladies in a
wide
-open, spotless room carefully tending to children who were tucked tightly into neat twin beds. It was impossible for Blaire to resolve the place she found herself in now with the place in the photographs; that place was
non
-existent, a bizarre alternate. Blaire stopped to study a particular photo, in which caliginous clouds swirled over the heads of the people, who smiled brightly, oblivious to their ominous environment. A handsome,
middle
-aged man stood at the edge of the gathering with his black hair slicked back, and, from beneath his finely groomed mustache, a crooked smile peeked through. He was the only male caregiver that she saw in any of the photographs. His hand was resting lightly on the shoulder of a seemingly unhappy and distracted little boy with clumsy silver braces on each of his legs. The last photograph on that wall showed a group of children, wild with glee, as they bounced around in a circle while holding hands, appearing to be in the “all fall down” stage of Ring Around the Rosie. Blaire smiled before turning to hurry after Vesna, but gulped when she all but collided into the acrimonious old woman who was standing right next to her. Vesna’s eyes burned with aggravation.

“Sorry,” Blaire said as she felt her head begin to throb once again.

The petite fireball of a woman turned swiftly and started up the stairs.

Down the hallway, Blaire noticed an elevator, “Does the elevator work?”

“I wouldn’t try it unless you’re the adventurous type. It gets stuck more often than not.” Their guide continued talking and moving up the stairs without looking back. “Marko will get someone to fix it when he is ready.”

There are no children
here
, Blaire thought.

“Where are the children?” Travis asked as if reading her mind. Vesna stopped and faced her followers. “The children are having breakfast,” she snapped. “Any other questions?”

The visitors exchanged awkward glances.

“Guess not.”

“Good.” Vesna was eager to be done with the pair.

“Can I speak to
your
customer service manager?” Travis mumbled under his breath, and Blaire shushed him with a smile.

As Vesna trekked up the second flight of stairs without pause, Blaire peeked into one of the bedrooms off the second floor and spotted a little girl playing. The child’s hair was tied up into a ponytail with a thick yellow ribbon made of cotton which matched her shirt of the same color, it sat wrinkled under her
crimson
-colored overalls. Slowly, she rocked, back and forth while singing a rhythmic lullaby in a low tone. She turned to Blaire as if sensing her presence, revealing bright but empty aqua blue eyes. Blaire mouthed a silent hello and gave a short wave, but the girl only stared for a moment before she turned back to rock the naked body of her headless doll.

On the third floor, Blaire looked for photographs on the walls of the hall but there were none, only a light spot on the wall where something rectangular once hung. Vesna led them to the last door on the right at the end of the hall, where she used her
orthopedic
-shoed foot to guide the door open, exposing a lightlessness between four walls. Blaire’s bags thudded to the floor.

“This room is for both of us?” Travis asked. Vesna turned to him and stared before softening her glare and giving a slow nod.

“Thank you,” Blaire said.

“I will let Marko know that you are here when he returns from town.” Vesna began her march back down the hall. “You may want to shower before then.”

“That was totally directed toward you.” Travis waited for Blaire’s reaction to his wisecrack.

“Yeah, right. This from a man who had at least six shots last night.” Blaire said barely feeling humorous.

“So this is the penthouse suite?” Travis had not given up trying to highlight the comedy of their situation. They looked over the dusty room, furnished sparsely with two
twin
-size beds on rickety metal frames and with two basic dressers and mirrors. One bed sat against the far wall to the left of the entrance, and the other on the wall opposite the door, under an enormous window covered with closed blinds.

“Didn’t we just pass an empty room next door?” Travis made his way to the bed against the left wall, where he immediately plopped down and began tossing and turning to find a comfortable position.

“I think so,” Blaire said, as she climbed upon her bed and peeked through the heavy blinds, which introduced a breathtaking view of the sea. She pulled the cord inviting the cold, blinding light to flush the room.

Travis looked around, viewing everything a bit more clearly now. “And yesterday they said that they needed time to
fix
the room up? I would have loved to see what it looked like before.”

“One can only imagine,” Blaire said.

“Not that I mind sharing a room. I don’t think I would want to sleep in this place alone.”

“Me either.”

Travis came over and took a look out the window. “I can’t wait to get in that water. The penthouse suite may not be so bad after all. Wanna go for a swim?”

“No thanks,” Blaire responded as they both began to unpack. Travis put away the last of his clothes and pulled out a towel. “I’m gonna find a shower.”

Blaire gazed out the window once more before she let the blinds down. She lay across the bed and was asleep in no time.

Blaire’s eyes popped open, and her heart pounded furiously like the train beating the track on its journey to Borslav. She was not at home anymore. Blaire could hear a slight wheezing in her breath; she squinted her eyes as shadowy figures came into view and moved closer to her.

Blaire closed her eyes and reopened them rapidly, trying to shift the dark figures into better focus, but they did not move. They remained frozen. The objects became clearer as the seconds passed, and she was able to make out a dresser and mirror and a small bed across the room.

St. Sebastian
,
she reminded herself with a sigh. She looked around for Travis, but he was still gone. Looking at her watch she realized that she had been sleeping for several hours and as a result her hangover was beginning to pass.

Something rustled inside of the closet. All of her senses honed in on the tall white door for several seconds until all was quiet again. Blaire began to lie back down, but was startled when a whisper reached out from the closet and grabbed her. In seconds she was on her feet, tiptoeing across the cool floor. With the door of the closet only feet from her now, she gasped when she heard a loud knock come from the other side of it. Her shaking hand reached out for the crystal knob and yanked it open.

Her eyes were trained on the darkness. First, a slight movement among her hanging clothes, and then a figure rose in the corner of the closet. Blaire was paralyzed with fear when the petite shape leapt out at her.

“Hide and seek!” the boy shouted awkwardly as he jumped into the light, his dirty blonde hair sat atop his head like a messy bird’s nest, he laughed and dashed from the room.

“Holy mother!” Blaire whispered to herself before bursting into laughter. She poked her head out of the room, and heard the yelping of children in other parts of the building. The halls on the floors below were now filled with the gleeful squawks of children of all ages.

Blaire stiffened as she got a whiff of something foul. She looked around and realized it was herself, vodka still oozing from her pores.

“Gross,” she muttered before she gathered some clothes and a towel, heading out in search of the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before Vesna found Blaire and gave her instructions on their meeting with Marko. The meeting hour left Blaire with just enough time for a
mini
-tour of St. Sebastian. By the front door, there was a room that appeared to have been a waiting area at one time. As Blaire entered, she found a little girl, still cloaked in the lavender dress she had been wearing yesterday in the backyard.

“Dariya?” Blaire called to the girl, who was kneeling on the floor with her face pressed tightly to an
L
-shaped air vent that sat against the bottom of the wall and the top of the floor.

“Dariya?” Blaire called again, taking another step toward the girl.

Dariya did not respond, but the ruffles of her skirt perked higher into the air toward Blaire as the girl pushed her face closer to the vent. Blaire’s feet fell softly on the scuffed wood floor as she made her way across the room. A deep gurgling whisper flowed from the vent. The rumbling murmur offered a wicked, soft scowl of surprise as it suddenly ceased, and the girl turned her face abruptly, locking eyes with Blaire.

Blaire gasped
, What happened to Dariya? What happened to her face? No, not her face, it was her eyes.

CHAPTER FIVE

D
ariya’s
golden
-colored eyes were clear and glowed like honey hit by the perfectly angled light of a setting sun. How could it be that eyes that were just yesterday blinded by a thick white curtain were now as clear as a summer sky? For a moment, Blaire thought that maybe it was her own eyes that were the problem.

“
Dariya?”

The mysterious girl shook her head rigorously, left to right. She used her small pale hand to lift a bushel of the tangled curls in order to reveal a primitive hearing device. Blaire’s features swam in momentary confusion as she studied the oversized contraption that wrapped itself around the young child’s ear like a malicious alien trying to burrow into her brain.

Blaire pointed to the little girl, and then pressed her hands to her ears while shaking her head from left to right. Up and down the girl nodded to confirm that she was deaf.

“You’re not Dariya,” Blaire said, coming to grips with the strange reality. The girl shook her head in agreement. “Her sister? You’re her sister? Twins?”

The girl read Blaire’s lips carefully and nodded in agreement once again. She lifted her hand and allowed her fingers to move slowly in silent conversation. Blaire did not sign, but she did know some letters, and, once the girl finished, Blaire spoke.

“Danya?”

Danya nodded up and down with a smile, displaying a toothy grin.

“My name is Ms. Baker,” Blaire said with slow and exaggerated facial movements. “What were you doing?” Blaire squatted and pointed toward the vent.

“Did you see something down there?” Blaire asked as she peered into the darkness that lay just beyond the metal cover of the vent.

Danya shrugged, and then she picked up an old, instant camera from the floor. She hung the camera on her neck by a worn leather strap.

“Did you take a picture?” Blaire asked pointing toward the camera and mimicking the taking of a snapshot.

Left to right the little girl nodded as she popped open the back of the camera to reveal that there was no film before scampering out of the room. Blaire’s eyes followed Danya as she exited, and then her gaze returned to the vent in the floor.

Marko Anglov’s dimly lit broom closet of an office incited a claustrophobic reaction instantly upon entering. The director of St. Sebastian appeared professional sitting on the other side of the
scratched
-up desk. His black hair was combed neatly to one side, though some small cowlicks reveled in temporary freedom. With a studying look, Marko flipped through some papers before glancing back up at the pair who couldn’t help but feel out of place.

“We are happy that you two are here to help,” he said with an odd smile that made him appear as if he had a metal plate in one side of his jaw.

“We’re glad to be here,” Blaire replied.

“I should start by telling you a little about St. Sebastian, no?”

“Yes, of course. This used to be a home, right?” Blaire looked at the piles of folders heaped on the desk and wondered what they contained.

“Correct,” Marko stated dryly. “Boslav was once a quite successful town, believe it or not. There were jobs and monied families. People came here for opportunity and a quiet life, which is what brought Anastasia Lutsky along with her mother Magda. Anastasia quickly found work cooking and cleaning right here in this house when it was the private residence of Viktor Raspla, an elderly heir to a banking fortune. The Lutsky’s were from Slokivka as many of the immigrants were at that time. It was a place where Magda was known for taking in unwanted children, and that reputation followed her here. People began to travel to Borslav to drop their unwanted children on the Lutsky’s doorstep, and, while the pair were by no means rich, Magda always took them in and cared for them in the best way she could.

Viktor, on the other hand, was a
self
-serving man. As the years passed, many of his relatives died off or were banished from the home and his life for their incredible greed or some other sin. While the offenses of family members could have been real or just as easily imagined by the old man, the result left him completely alone. One day he grew ill and as his illness progressed rapidly, he asked Anastasia is she knew anyone who could nurse him. Anastasia thought first of her mother, but said that she was afraid her mother would be unable as she cared for a couple of unwanted children. Viktor told Anastasia to bring her mother and the children could come along as long as they didn’t bother him. There was plenty of room for them to play and move about without disturbing him much. Shortly after, Magda began coming in with her daughter to care for Viktor, with the children in tow. Often they played on the lawn or in one of rooms at the far end of one of the abandoned corridors while Magda fed or bathed Viktor. As Magda nursed him, they grew close. He was moved by her compassion for the children and though he never admitted it, people believed that he secretly loved having the children around, hearing their laughter ring through the halls. Within months he was dead, leaving everything to Magda to continue her work with the children, including this house. It was rumored that his last words to Magda were
Money is nothing without love
. That is how St. Sebastian came to be an orphanage. We take in any and all orphaned or unwanted children. We are based on a legacy of love, not money.”

“That’s beautiful,” Blaire commented.

“Yes, but unfortunately we have become painfully aware that children need more than love, which brings us to you. St. Sebastian is a
non
-profit facility that ran out of Viktor’s money long ago, and we are severely underfunded, but we do the best we can.”

“We’re glad that we can help,” Travis said.

“We’re short on staff here, so we work on a skeleton crew. There are no teachers, so it is my understanding that you will be setting up some type of lessons for the children?”

“Yes, I recently graduated with my master’s degree. I have interned in several schools in the United States, created various learning and campus improvement programs, and facilitated many new
teach
—”

“Good.” Marko interrupted before moving his eyes to Travis. “And you are the nurse?” “Right.” Travis replied.

“There are no doctors on staff, so the children do not receive regular medical attention. You will be giving basic medical care?”

“That’s right,” Travis responded.

“The children don’t receive any medical attention at all?” Blaire asked.

“Very little,” Marko responded in an authoritative voice. “Every so often we may get a doctor to come here from Kerchaviv, but it’s rare.”

Unspoken questions filled the room, like ocean water pouring into the lower decks of a sinking ship, and suddenly everyone was rushing to escape.

“I should show you around.” Marko closed one of his files and lifted himself stiffly from his chair. Before he came around the desk, he opened his drawer and took out two sets of keys handing one set to each of them.

“These keys go to various doors throughout the facility from your room to your offices, to the front door, etc. Keep your keys on you at all times,” Marko instructed.

As they followed Marko through the corridors, the black and white photographs of the cheerful children now filled Blaire with melancholy, and she cringed under their watchful eyes.

On the third floor, Marko began the tour with a clear directive. “The children are not to be up here. The third floor is for workers only,” Marko spoke clearly and waited for acknowledgement from the visitors. Blaire thought of the boy who had been playing hide and seek in her closet, but thought it better to keep it to herself for now.

The third floor bathroom, which Blaire and Travis found earlier in the day consisted of a few toilet stalls, two showers and a tub; it reminded her of the bathroom in her freshman dorm, which she hated. Marko skipped over to their room, 3B, and next he motioned to the room of the other caregivers, who used them whenever they were scheduled for an overnight shift.

“Usually, we have only one caregiver scheduled to spend the evening. They take turns.”

“So one person watches over
all
of the children?” Blaire asked.

“Yes,” Marko snapped, not bothering to disguise his annoyance.

In the middle of the hall was a metal door with a silver bolt lock.

“On the other side of this door are stairs that lead to the rooftop deck. This door is
always
locked, no exceptions,” Marko said.

“St. Sebastian has a rooftop deck,” Blaire quipped in a muted amazement.

“Rooftop deck on the left, spa to your right,” Travis said with a chuckle.

Blaire began to laugh, but Marko’s
razor
-sharp glare pulverized the tiny joyous moment.

“Yes, it was part of the home when it was a personal estate. Once this building became an orphanage, the workers were allowed to use it for sunbathing in their off time, until one of them, a young woman, plunged off the side.” He recounted the tale with a wicked calm. Every bit of the good humor that had been leftover within Blaire from Travis’ joke a moment earlier was now completely crushed.

Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
Blaire could hear the iniquitous chants, and suddenly found herself on Grammercy Bridge with the autumn wind tousling her hair. Blaire looked around to see if Travis and Marko could hear them, but they couldn’t, just
her
—always just her.

“She died?” Blaire asked.

“No, but might as well. She shattered everything from her ankles to her collarbone. She can’t move from the neck down. Too bad, she was young and bright, but not much now.”

“That’s terrible,” Travis responded.

“No one is allowed on the rooftop deck, but you do have keys because there’s a fire escape in case it ever becomes necessary,” Marko’s voice trailed back to them as he began sailing down the hall toward the stairs. Before descending the steps, Blaire glanced into the room behind the first door on the right, the door labeled 3C, which had been left off the tour as Marko began down the stairs. It was another empty room, sparse with the same bedroom furniture as all the other rooms on the floor.

“Ewl,” Blaire mumbled at the sight of a huge black stain in the middle of the floor, which caused it to sink in slightly.

In one of the rooms on the second floor, Marko stopped abruptly in front of a window and pointed out of it. “That small cottage out back is where I live. I do like my privacy and prefer that you speak to me when I am here during office hours, but if you need something at any other time, you are free to come by and knock on the door.”

Blaire looked over the charming cottage for a few seconds before her eyes wandered to an older
dark
-haired man who revved a pathetic lawnmower to a belching, dismal life.

“That’s Heinrik. He works for St. Sebastian. He helps with the children and tends the grounds when needed,” Marko informed them. Heinrik’s eyes floated up to Blaire’s, and she smiled politely before turning away.

Room 2D was the room for the older boys, and the younger boys were housed in 2E next to it. In both rooms several small metal beds were sporadically placed throughout. The quarters on the second floor were much larger than those on the third and hosted scores of children. A thin layer of dirt had made its home on the floors. Blaire studied the
urine
-stained sheets that were draped across the flimsy mattresses. At the end of each room were two oversized closets. In this room there were more of the eerie black and white photographs that hung almost everywhere throughout St. Sebastian.

“This is where the children sleep?” Blaire asked.

“Of course,” Marko said in a perfunctory tone.

“Are there covers for all of the beds?” Blaire wanted to know. “I mean, it is much too chilly for all of the children not to have at least that.” She held up one of the discolored sheets.

“We have what we have,” Marko stated.

“All
year
-round?” Blaire pushed, dismissing the tension she felt building.

“All
year
-around,” Marko mimicked calmly. He left the room, instructing them with a flip of his hand to follow. An uncomfortable Travis passed Blaire and exited behind Marko.

Marko traveled to the other end of the hall. Previously, 2C was a room for the babies, but now it was just an odd museum for what once was because there were no babies at St. Sebastian. Noticing a stain in the ceiling, Blaire stepped inside and studied it; it was the same stain that was on the floor in 3C.

“Ugh,” Blaire said, as she jumped back when a drop of heavy black liquid dripped to the floor.

The sound of Marko’s voice startled her, “Ms. Baker, it’s just a leak. Please keep up.”

Room 2B was for the younger girls. Room 2A was around the corner at the far end of the hall, and it housed the older girls. Blaire took a closer look into the closets of room 2A, inspecting the pathetic habiliments more than she should have judging from the look on Marko’s face. On this side, the rooms were not much different from the other end, except that this particular room smelled of urine and stringent soap.