Taken

[Britwitch]

<<Closed for myself and qerasija>>

Alina awoke with a start, swiftly wincing and hissing through her teeth after the back of her head connected with something hard as she did so. She rubbed the smarting area, stroking her long dark hair as she did so. Her eyes searched the blackness around her for any kind of clue as to where she was, as she rolled up onto her knees her hands began to test her surroundings, all too quickly discovering bars, cold and thick and metal. She was in a cage.

“Hello…?” She asked the darkness, certain she wouldn’t get a response but feeling a desperate need to try regardless. “Is…is there anyone there…?” She sat back on her heels, shivering slightly when the silence remained unbroken. She was alone wherever she was. She wrapped her arms around her petite frame only to find her clothes were gone, leaving her in her underwear and nothing else. Her skirt and blouse had vanished, her gently curving body with her generous bust for a girl with such a small figure on show for whoever had put her here. It was like a strange nightmare, one that she could only hope she could wake up from in the near future.

Alina tried to remember what had happened, how she had ended up in this cold, dark place. She had been out with friends, drinking and enjoying themselves as they did every Friday night after work, nothing unusual there. They never drank to excess, never woke up on the Saturday with black spots in the memories and yet here she was with no clear idea of anything.

Then she remembered, the man, the tall guy at the bar, then again everyone was tall to her. She was barely over 5’2, with youthful looks she frequently found herself asked for ID in bars and clubs, with bar staff taking more than a little convincing that she was over 21, well over in fact. She would be 25 in a few weeks, even if her lightly freckled face with its wide, almost innocent, honey coloured eyes didn’t show it. The man had bought her and her friends a drink, said it was nice to see people enjoying themselves.

Once her friends had danced off onto the floor, he’d bought her another and almost shyly asked her for her number. Alina frowned in the darkness, fighting to recall what had followed. She knew that she’d politely turned him down and returned to her friends. Then, not long afterwards, she’d felt odd, a little dizzy and nauseous and had gone outside for a breath of fresh air…after that…she couldn’t remember…
She scowled in frustrated confusion. Fear was steadily growing in her stomach as the pitch black silence smothered her.

Suddenly there was light, bright, blinding and painful. Making her screw her eyes shut and scoot backwards away from the source until she hit the bars at the rear of the cage. Voices followed, almost too low to be heard clearly. Male voices, two at least although as Alina whimpered at the shooting pain in her head from the light she found it hard to focus on their words. She heard numbers, lots of numbers and heard papers being passed back and forth and then she felt hands, reaching through the bars and restraining her. She pulled and struggled, crying out but a swift scratch to her upper arm soon stopped her. Her eyes fluttering as she grew limp and once more slumped to the floor of the cage, unconsciousness taking her into its total control once more.

 

[qerasija]

A woman and two men entered the room and joined the conference. The woman was in her fifties and was dressed in a flowing black sari. Her cheekbones stood in stark relief on either side of her face. The eyes were a piercing black. They appraised him coolly; in a glance she had her measure of him. Her placid smile implied the certain knowledge of her surroundings, of who he was and what he wanted. The woman looked slight, but was the formidable presence in the room. The hulking men in expensive suits who stood to either side of her did not matter.

'We are agreed,' said Mr Nicholas to the woman.

The woman nodded. 'I assumed as much,' she said, producing a card, which she inserted into an electronic device. She tapped in some numbers on the keypad and pointed the device at the cage; the lock made a soft click. The two men who accompanied the woman pulled the door open and extracted the girl from her prison. One carried her by the legs, the other by the shoulders. From deep within her chest, the girl released a moan.

The eyes of the woman fell to the girl and made their evaluation. 'She will pass,' the woman said and inclined her head at the men carrying the girl.

The men walked forward and crossed the room in quick strides. The weight of the girl they carried did not signify. The door on the far side of the room parted. The two halves were absorbed by the wall. The girl disappeared into the corridor behind.

'I will take you to the observation room,' said the woman.

Within the observation room there was a window and two chairs. Mr Nicholas sat in the first chair, and he looked through the window with interest. His hands ran nervously along his thighs. The woman sat in the second chair. She opened a laptop and tapped fluently at the keys. He stood at the window, crossed his arms, and considered the scene on the other side of the glass.

The girl was naked on the examination table in the centre of the room. Although she was not yet fully conscious, her ankles and wrists had restraints affixed to them. The light was directed into her face. The doctors in the room subjected her to an efficient physical examination. She had had a more thorough physical within the last month; the object of this exam was simply to ensure that nothing in the intervening weeks had produced a change of any consequence.

Once the physical part of the evaluation was completed, it would be time for the mental part. The girl was a commodity, one for which he was willing to pay dearly. The process of making someone disappear was far from a trivial undertaking and also an expensive one. In addition, he exposed himself to some risk. He had the right to know what he was acquiring. So that the girl would not be tainted if he did not want her, it was negotiated that a third party would conduct the second examination.

First, the girl would have to wake. She lay on the table still in her drugged stupor. The key that would unlock the restraint on her left wrist had been placed just under her hand. The other restraints, she could simply unbuckle once she had freed that hand. Clothes were in a box on the floor at the foot of the table. There was a toilet if she needed to relieve. Once she had freed herself and dressed, Dr Markov would enter the room to conduct the interview.

They had been watching her ever since her second semester as an undergraduate. They knew her better than her professors did. He nevertheless had insisted that certain questions be put to her in the interview, to make certain that she had not been misjudged. But he expected her to pass easily.

It was afterward, once he had her in his possession, that he expected her to fail.

 

[Britwitch]

Alina was aware of being moved, of hands on her body, the vague scratching, pricking sensation of needles in her flesh, but the heavy blackness of unconsciousness held her in it's grip until the hands had moved away from her and she was apparently alone. Her eyes flickered open, wincing instantly as bright light glared down at her from above. She turned her head to the side, swiftly discovering the restraints around her wrists as she tried to move her hands to cover her eyes. Growling quietly she pulled and twisted, groaning as her wrists remained fixed where they were, her ankles too.

Squinting she looked around the room, the light shining into her face prevented her from seeing much but she couldn't see anyone around who might be able to help or explain just what was going on. Then she saw it, out of the corner of her eye. A key lying beneath her hand. Biting her bottom lip, she twisted her hand, trying to get hold of it. Soon enough she had unlocked the restrained and swiftly reached across to free her other arm. Sitting up swiftly and cursing as her head swam slightly, she unbuckled her ankles and slid to the floor. Rubbing at her eyes for a moment or two, trying to regain a proper sense of vision.

The room was pretty much empty, apart from the bed-slash-table she had been bound to, there were two chairs next to what appeared to be a large mirror and portable toilet in the corner. A box lay on the floor at the foot of the bed/table and Alina approached it cautiously. Within it was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of loose fitting black trousers, no underwear, no shoes. She glanced around the room suspiciously, one hand held up almost subconsciously in an attempt to conceal her nakedness from anyone that might see her. She dressed quickly, noticing the small puncture marks on the inside of her arm, someone had taken her blood. She rubbed them thoughtfully.

Alina stood for a moment, her caramel toned eyes flitting around the room, looking for something, anything that might tell her where she was and what she was doing there. She folded her arms across her chest and paced slowly across the floor, back and forth, back and forth, until a sound behind her made her whirl around. A doorway, she hadn't even noticed until then, was opened and a man entered.
"Where am I?" She demanded quietly. She knew that there was no use in shouting, not until she knew a little more about the situation. "Who are you and where am I...?"
Wordlessly he moved to sit in one of the chairs, looking pointedly at the empty one opposite him. Alina almost pouted as silence hung around them both.
"Fine..." She grumbled, walking briskly over and sitting down, crossing her legs and arms and leaning back slightly in the chair. Modelling an image of boredom and nonchalance. An image totally different to the ones shining in her wide eyed, confusion and clearly worried gaze.

 

[qerasija]

When the the girl sat in the chair, the screens in the observation room flashed on. Though the girl faced the window, one of the cameras was trained on her face. The other screen focused on Dr Markov. Through the window, one only saw the side of his face with the scar: his beard did little to conceal it.

As he considered the scene of the girl being scrutinised in silence by Dr Markov, he became aware that the patter of keys on the laptop had ceased. The woman in the observation room was observing him. Probably, he was being recorded also. He shrugged this thought aside and concentrated.

'My name is Abraham Markov,' began the psychiatrist in Russian accented English. 'I know that you have questions for me. I am not at liberty to answer them. I cannot tell you what you want to know. Indeed, I cannot tell you what you need to know. I am here to give you a series of tests. A great deal depends on the answers you give. You have little conception of the peril you are in.'

As Alina made to speak, Dr Markov showed her the gun. Through the window, his eyes were on Alina's reaction, the slight drop of her mouth, the widening of her eyes, the sudden flash of resolution there. She clenched her jaw tightly shut. Her fingers whitened as they held the sides of her chair. He expected the gun was unloaded. He suspected it, but did not know.

A long career gambling against governments ensured his impassiveness at the scene that played out in the room behind the window. The woman scrutinised him anyway. That he betrayed no reaction was also a fact. Mr Nicholas now stood, his face pressed nearly against the glass. That man didn't matter. The woman whose name he didn't know could matter greatly. She left him slightly unbalanced. Few people ever did.

Dr Markov lifted his briefcase onto his lap. As he opened it and extracted some papers, neither of his hands held the gun. The girl was obviously in better physical condition than the Russian. She was selected for her fitness as much as for her other qualities, those she knew about and, more importantly, those she wasn't aware she possessed. Alina could choose to act now, or she could choose to wait. In her place, he would wait. The girl's eyes darted from left to right. There wasn't anyplace she could run even if she had the gun. If it were loaded, she could kill Dr Markov. Then what? He was pleased when the girl leaned back in her chair and waited.

Dr Markov handed the girl a piece of paper. On it Alina read:

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Sonnet 129.

'Tell me what the poet's view of sexuality is,' Dr Markov asked her.

It isn't often that anyone is required to explain Shakespeare at the point of a gun. He hoped that Alina would live to see the humour in this someday. At the moment, there was a look of confusion in her eyes as she read the words a second time. Her hand shook slightly as she held the paper.

 

[Britwitch]

'My name is Abraham Markov...I know that you have questions for me. I am not at liberty to answer them. I cannot tell you what you want to know. Indeed, I cannot tell you what you need to know. I am here to give you a series of tests. A great deal depends on the answers you give. You have little conception of the peril you are in.'
Alina opened her mouth but shut it almost instantly as the gun came into view. Her breathing paused for a moment as her eyes widened in a reflexive reaction, muscles tensing throughout her body. He was right in that she had no idea of what kind of danger or trouble she was in. The room and limited furnishings within it led Alina to believe that whatever the set up was behind her abduction, there were serious amounts of money involved and where there was money there was usually power.

Her eyes remained fixed on the weapon as he lifted a briefcase onto his lap, letting go of it for a moment. In that instant her agile mind swiftly ran through the possibilities. She could grab the gun and make an attempt at escape, but the doorway through which he had appeared seemed to lack any kind of visibly handle or lock, probably controlled from the outside she reasoned, which meant they were being watched. In which case she could use the gun to threaten this Doctor and gain her freedom that way. But somehow she knew that would be a pointless exercise. So, she re folded her arms and leant back in the chair.

She took the paper Dr Markov offered, fighting to stop the trembling in her hand from rustling it too much and read it with a quirked brow.
"Shakespeare...?" She muttered under her breath, scanning the passage before casting a clearly bemused expression towards the man sat opposite her.
'Tell me what the poet's view of sexuality is,' he asked smoothly.
Her eyebrow quirked higher, a ghost of a smile flitting over her lips as her eyes moved across the printed words before her once more.
"You...you want me to explain Shakespeare's view on sexuality based on this sonnet...?" She asked after a pause, looking up and placing the paper on her lap. "I don't think I can..." She replied smoothly.

"This sonnet is one of the rare examples within Shakespeare's sonnets that is almost impersonal in it's tone. He makes no reference to himself or to either of his other referencial characters, 'The Dark Lady' or 'The Young Man' that feature in his other sonnets. It's a general statement about lust and it's effects but reveals very little about Shakespeare's own thoughts on sexuality..." She paused, the smile curving her lips a little more now, her confidence growing. Although as her confidence with the subject matter was obvious she was also very aware that they, whoever brought her here, whoever was watching, probably knew she'd studied Literature, which meant this wasn't an accidental abduction. It had been planned. She lifted a hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, before she glanced to the large mirror beside them, certain that those watching were closeby. "I can tell you the poet's view on lust, it's possible pleasures and pitfalls, but from this piece alone I cannot tell you his view on sexuality..."

 

[qerasija]

The girl was intelligent. She had been selected because she was. Early in her undergraduate career, she had impressed an English professor. The professor was one of them. We do not impress easily. The recruitment committee had been made aware of Alina. The central committee took interest in her case soon afterward. Alina happily took the tests -- a psychological study, they called it -- for which she was well paid. The answers were heavily scrutinised by the committee. Some facts were checked. Inferences were made. They were thorough. Alina did not know it, but two of her former lovers had been with them also. Her future role was at the moment less than clear. He had paid heavily for the privilege of training her. He knew what her role should be and felt he could succeed in preparing her. He was well positioned in the hierarchy, but failure would have its consequences for him also. It was a risk he accepted.

That she could read the poem was a surprise to precisely no one in the room. The fluency of her reply and her poise was equally expected. It was a slight disappointment that she had not taken the next, necessary step. It was not yet the pattern of her life to question the motive in every act. She would learn that soon enough. Sonnet 129 had been chosen for a purpose: she read a part of her future in those fourteen lines.

There was as well one other reason for the test. She knew enough to look into the mirror as she framed her reply. Dr Markov was not the examiner. He was -- they were -- and she had processed this information and responded accordingly.

Dr Markov took the sheet of paper from her. He jotted his notes on a yellow pad. He would file a report, of course, but his evaluation would be less than useless to him. The gun was in his lap again. The man was a fool. Whoever chose him must have been aware of this. The gun would be unloaded. Once more, Alina had the good sense to bide her time and wait. Her left leg rocked atop her right, then she reversed their positions. Her bare feet were dirty. She tapped her fingers on the handrests on her chair. She seemed less nervous now than impatient. He expected she knew that Dr Markov was not the point of the exercise. She did not bother to peek at the notes he was taking. (They would be in Russian anyway.) Her eyes scanned the room to begin. The focus settled on her reflection in the mirror. She looked unwaveringly at the glass. The minute hand of the clock behind her swept a circle. The numbers on the clock were printed in reverse so that they appeared correctly in the mirror. The time was off by seven hours and thirty-eight minutes.

Dr Markov extracted a clipboard with a second blank sheet. 'If things go well, you are going to disappear,' he said and hesitated. He did not need to mention what would happen if things were to go badly. He cleared his voice and continued: 'List the names of all the people in the world who will care.'

Mr Nicholas grunted when Dr Markov's voice finished the command. The woman was as inscrutable as before. He ignored them both and looked at Alina who stared back at him.

 

[Britwitch]

Alina watched with an expression akin to boredom as Dr Markov scribbled something following her response. Her eyes eventually moved away from him and studied the room once more before settling upon the mirror. She'd watched enough movies to know that interrogations were always performed under surveillance of somekind and that one-way glass was an ideal way of doing so. This was without doubt an interrogation of some form and someone was behind the glass, of that much she was certain. What they were watching her for remained a mystery.

As Dr Markov withdrew more paper from his briefcase Alina allowed herself to look back at him.
'If things go well, you are going to disappear,'
Alina's jaw tensed almost imperceptibly, his tone and meaning was unquestionable. As was the unspoken implication of his words, of what would happen should things go wrong.
'List the names of all the people in the world who will care.'
Alina's eyes shot back to the mirror, a little of her brave facade slipping as her eyes narrowed at her reflection, at the person or people hidden beneath it's surface.

"You already know the answer..." She muttered with a bitter edge to her voice. Dr Markov remained silent, signalling her response was not enough. She growled slightly, standing swiftly and almost knocking the chair over as a result. She walked slowly, pointedly, towards the mirror. Stopping a few steps away from it and folded her arms over her chest. As she spoke her angry eyes passed over the glass, looking through it, seeking out the hidden eyes behind it.
"My parents are dead, I have an older brother to whom I've not spoken in years following a...a disagreement..." She tensed slightly, recalling her older brother's so-called best friend who had decided to press his advantage and take advantage of her, her brother had sided with him and she hadn't seen him, or the friend, since.

"I have no boyfriend, although I'm sure you're well aware of that..." Her lips curled into a slight sneer as the sheer level of knowledge these people seemed to have about her. "I have some friends at work but none that I am especially close to...so, the only person who would truly care if I was to disappear, would be me..." She finished bluntly, her eyes now staring straight ahead at the mirror.

 

[qerasija]

Alina stood slightly to the right of being directly opposite from Mr Nicholas, who flinched at her approach. The idiot Dr Markov sat scribbling into his notepad.

'Put me on voice,' he said.

Mr Nicholas turned to face him. 'There is still another test.'

'She passed.'

'She answered your question, not ours.'

He ignored Mr Nicholas and turned to the woman. 'Put me on voice.'

'I bid for her, too. Intelligence wants her. The convergence point.'

'Do you think so?' he asked her.

'No.'

'Then why?'

'She will outrank us one day.'

'If she survives.'

'If she doesn't, will we be worse off?'

'If she doesn't, I will be dead.'

The woman gave him a considering look. She made a decision, tapped on her computer, and nodded.

'Thank you, Dr Markov,' he said. 'You may leave us.' Scraping his fingertip across his throat, he made a cutting gesture.

The woman touched the keypad. The silence in the room was broken only by the heaviness of Mr Nicholas' breathing.

Though she watched in the mirror as Dr Markov gathered his things, Alina remained still. When Dr Markov reached the door, he spoke to her a final time. 'A word of advice,' he said. 'They'll offer you death. Take it.'

Alina blinked. The door closed behind him. The girl was alone.

'You spoke to her,' Mr Nicholas said. 'She is yours.'

The woman ordered him to attend to Dr Markov, and Mr Nicholas left them. Alina had in the meanwhile decided to sit once more, but she did so with her arms crossed. The tilt of her head was imperious. Her eyes glared lasers into the mirror.

'Put me on again,' he requested.

The woman touched a key.

'On top of the toilet, you will find a collar and a lead. When you are ready, put them on and stand by the door. I am prepared to wait as long as necessary.'

The cutting gesture again.

The muscles in Alina's arms tensed; her hands balled into fists. Briefly, her face wore a mask of rage. Alina steeled this reaction.

'How long do you expect it will take?' the woman asked. There was a trace of amusement in her voice now.

'More than an hour. Less than two.'

The woman didn't look at him. He didn't look at her. Their eyes were on Alina. The girl was still as stone. She stared defiantly ahead.

The silence held a long minute.

'No matter what you paid, or what you think you are training her for, she is yours on loan only. She will outrank you.'

He reflected on this a moment. 'I get to decide whether she lives,' he said.

 

[Britwitch]

'Thank you, Dr Markov...You may leave us.'
The man's voice echoed slightly in the still room and made Alina jump ever so slightly in response. She knew they were being watched and had been certain her reply to he last question would warrant some kind of reaction from whoever 'they' were, but that it would come so swiftly was a little surprising.

Alina moved back from the mirrored glass, although keeping her eyes on it almost constantly. Barely even aware of Dr Markov's exit until he spoke to her.
'A word of advice,' he said. 'They'll offer you death. Take it.'
Before she could think to ask what he meant, the door slid silently shut, leaving her alone. Running her tongue thoughtfully over her teeth, Alina moved to her seat once more. Folding her arms and training her eyes on the glass before her once more. Running her eyes over it's surface, back and forth.

'On top of the toilet, you will find a collar and a lead. When you are ready, put them on and stand by the door. I am prepared to wait as long as necessary.'
Alina looked across at the toilet and saw the slim black collar and it's attached lead. It looked expensive, soft leather with glistening silver links making up the chain leading from it. Quirking an eyebrow at the mirror, she took a deep breath and made no effort to move form the chair.
"I am not an animal..." She murmured angrily. Her eyes glittering with the rage she was only just managing to supress throughout the rest of her body.

Her eyes remained on the glass, staring into the slightly distorted reflection of her own features, every so often taking a deep breath and occassionally switching the leg that she crossed over the other. She didn't realise how long she sat there, neither enjoying nor disliking the strange stalemate she found herself in.

She knew that she would get no answers about her fate should she remain as she was but to surrender and put on the collar seemed such a huge step towards submitting to whatever twisted desires 'they' had for her that she couldn't bare the thought of doing it. Alina eventually broke her eyes gaze upon the glass to glance at the clock, 74 minutes had passed since Dr Markov left. For over an hour she had been sat and there had been no more words spoken into the room.

Taking what felt like the millionth deep breath she had taken in the sterile room, she rose sharply to her feet and moved to the toilet. With slightly shaking hands she picked up the collar and fastened it around her neck.
"Fine...!" Alina grumbled, taking the chain in her hand and moving to stand beside the door. Looking back pointedly at the glass, one hand holding the chain lead the other held up upon her hip. "Come on then...what are you waiting for...?!" She asked coldly.

 

[qerasija]

He glanced at the woman once, then gave a slight bow at the waist and a nod of the head. 'It's time for me to go. Thank you. I will send a report to the Committee by morning. I hope it won't be necessary to punish Dr Markov too severely, but that isn't for me to say.'

'Good luck with the girl,' she answered.

'Wish us all luck,' he said, with his hand on the door.

Another door opened for Alina as the last door shut. He stood before Alina at last and appraised her for a long moment. He was fully aware of the returned scrutiny. He was by a significant measure the larger of the pair and would be the winner in any physical contest. He knew that there was nowhere to run. He did not expect her to do anything precipitous, but he was on his guard.

He did not know whether Dr Markov had been instructed to deliver his last caution or volunteered the warning on his own. There were games being played other than his. The woman in the observation room had made the calculated admission that Intelligence wanted Alina also. No one had seriously discussed the convergence point for two decades or more. Possibly she wasn't from Intelligence and had lied. He was only a so-so chess player. He couldn't disentangle all the plots that were perpetually at work. The labyrinths were constructed by deep people. But he had Ariadne's thread. The girl was his, if only for a time. He thought it would be long enough for him to be able to reshape the Committee from within.

The two of them were being observed. They would be until they were aboard the airplane. The limousine to the airport was waiting outside. The chauffeur Edouard had arranged other delicate transactions for him in the past, but he knew that he would also watch and report.

How to phrase the first remark?

'You can call me, Death,' he decided. 'It isn't my name, but it will do for now.'

Alina glared at him. She bit back whatever choice words she may have had at that. Her eyes had been moving, absorbing her surroundings, but now she only looked at him. There was suspicion in the look, also a coldness, which he countered with a smile.

'You did very well in there,' he continued. 'Will you now give me the lead?' He kept his tone conversational, but was met with continued silence.

He wondered at what Alina's response to the request would be.

 

[Britwitch]

Alina felt her body tense as the door slid open, stepping through it into the corridor beyond and jumping ever so slightly as it slid suddenly shut. A man was stood before her, his eyes taking in her appearance as hers swept over him. He bearing along with his larger frame quickly quashed any ideas she might have had about trying to fight her way out now that she was free from the room.
She shifted her weight to one leg, her head tipped to the side ever so slightly and an impassive expression on her face while her eyes drifted around the corridor, glancing at buttons on walls and other doors leading to places she couldn't begin to imagine.

'You can call me, Death...It isn't my name, but it will do for now.'
Alina's eyebrow quirked but that was the extent of her response. She didn't trust her voice to speak without betraying her uneasiness, nor did she know exactly what she would say to him. What did one say to a man calling himself 'Death'?
'You did very well in there...Will you now give me the lead?'
Alina's eyes drifted from his to the chainlink lead in her hand and then back to his face. She was tempted to respond with something along the lines of, "If you want it, come and get it..." but she didn't doubt that he would and that she'd probably come off worse as a result. Once more she had little choice but to obey, she had gone from a locked room to a sealed corridor, and now she was sealed in with a man who looked like he would definitely be more of a challenge then the Doctor had been.

She paused for a moment or two longer, drawing out the silence between them before walking slowly and steadily towards him. She stopped a little short of him, it would take a step, maybe less, to cover the distance. She held the chain in her palm and lifted it towards him.
"Take it." Alina found she had to tilt her head back a little to maintain eye contact with him. "It'll take more than a collar and a chain to get me to do whatever it is you want..." She said bluntly.

 

[qerasija]

The man took the lead from Alina and smiled her. 'What I want is irrelevant. What you want signifies even less. The collar and chain are symbols. The time will come when we shall dispense with these. Invisible bonds are anyway more durable than steel.'

Turning his back to Alina without waiting for a reply or, indeed, expecting one, he traversed the length of the corridor. The tug on the lead, the tension in the chain, the quick and soft footfalls that lightly echoed told him that Alina followed. That she was behind him presented an element of risk. He didn't expect Alina to try anything; even if she did, he could handle that.

He activated the control in his pocket and the door spun open. The bright sunlight hit them, and they were outside.

The building itself was nondescript. He knew that the evidence of their presence over the past days was now being systematically destroyed. He trusted that the woman who said she from Intelligence would be reliably thorough at the job. She was as implicated in the kidnapping as he was.

The black limousine with the deeply tinted windows was parked across the street as he had asked. Edouard was in the front seat fiddling with the controls of the stereo. The sidewalk was busy with late afternoon lunch traffic from the offices in the financial district. If Alina would attempt an escape or shout for help, this was her moment. Either eventuality left him with contingencies that he had prepared. The more serious danger was if one of the other factions had set him up for an ambush. He didn't think this would be the place, but he had been wrong about such things before. He needed to know who opposed him, and how. He didn't like operating with half-guesses. He would be happier once they were in the air.

It was to his relief that Alina meekly followed and stood a deferential two steps behind at the street corner where they waited for the crossing signal to change colour. That a well-dressed man had a less well-dressed and barefoot girl following him by a chain was not a sight that escaped attention. Though he maintained his customary equanimity, he was aware of the curiosity that had been generated. People looked at him and looked away. People stared openly at her. The women shifted uncomfortably in their glances. The men shifted uncomfortably in their trousers. He didn't know Alina well enough to read her look, but he allowed the corners of his mouth to lift slightly.

The light turned, and he stepped into the street.

 

[Britwitch]

'What I want is irrelevant. What you want signifies even less. The collar and chain are symbols. The time will come when we shall dispense with these. Invisible bonds are anyway more durable than steel.'
Before she could question his enigmatic response, he turned away and, with the lead in his palm, began to walk. Alina hesitated until the slack in the chain was taken up and the collar pulled against her neck. She stumbled the first step behind him but soon found a rhythm that felt comfortable. Quick enough to keep up with his longer strides but slow enough to give her time to start to think, time to take in her surroundings.

As the door opened and they were bathed in bright sunlight, Alina had to squint and raise a hand to shield her eyes from the light. Her keen eyes taking in the uniformity of the buildings around her that betrayed nothing of her location.

They neared the street and Alina felt a slight stab of concern as she realised they were going to go out into the view of the public. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk she could feel the eyes of passers by looking and then looking again, at her state of dress, at the collar, at her lack of footwear...at her...
Some of the curious, bemused and slightly disgusted glances aimed her she met boldly, an eyebrow quirked, almost challenging the onlooker to explain themselves.

All the while her mind was suugesting various possibilities, she could run, try to pull away and simply get lost in the people milling about on the busy street. But he, 'Death', he looked strong. Strong and fast, probably faster than her being barefoot as she was. She'd have to be certain she could lose him if she was going to make a break for it, and she was far from certain.

She had already spotted the black limousine and assumed that was their intended destination. Between the car and them was a large, busy road. One they were currently waiting to cross. A fly buzzed lazily past her face and she swatted at it with her hand, while the other crept under her hair and began to unbuckle the fastening on the collar. The lights were beginning to change and this was going to be her last chance, possibly her only chance to escape. Once she was inside that car she had no idea of what her fate might be.

'Death' stepped out into the road as the light changed, along with twenty or thirty others, Alina didn't move. She waited until he had stepped away from the curb and would soon notice she was no longer behind him and then she turned and ran.

She ran blindly, weaving in and out of the people, her barefeet slapping against the tarmac, hair streaming out behind her. She didn't look back. She didn't dare look back. She didn't have to.
Alina knew she wasn't going to get away.

 

[qerasija]

It didn't often happen that he was taken by surprise. The tension in the leash suddenly went slack. He turned and swore as he saw Alina dashing from him and into the thick of the crowd.

He gestured with his hand to Edouard, who brought the limousine into motion, then set off after Alina. Extracting the mobile telephone from his pocket, he signalled his confederates, broadcasting his position to them. Stitched into the lining of Alina's trousers, a radio transponder whirred also to life. Unless there was an ambush planned by some other faction, she would not escape him. If an ambush had been prepared, Alina had made a serious miscalculation indeed. She could expect no more mercy from them than from him. He felt confident that this was not the time or the place for a move against him. If he was wrong, he would need to improvise a solution. The consequence of failure was too severe.

Though the contingencies for each of many eventualities that might transpire jostled for attention in his mind, he concentrated his effort on the problem at hand. A woolen suit was not the most suitable attire for a race, but he made chase. Elbowing a path through the densest part of the pedestrian traffic, he paused in his pursuit only long enough to discard the leash and certain papers that he carried into a trash bin. The limousine was half a city block ahead of him. Edouard might try to block Alina's progress.

Alina noted the position of the car as well. She ran into the park, away from the streets. It was a mistake. She would have had better luck running into a building and trying to lose him inside. She would not have succeeded, but it could have made what followed more difficult for him.

His stride, the reach of his arms were greater than hers. With the head start and the bobbing through the crush, she had managed to build a lead of some twenty yards. But they were running in the open. This part of the park was lightly wooded, vast stretches of grass populated by people sunbathing, a lake, a dirt path for bicycles. He considered and rejected knocking a rider from his bicycle. He was making up the distance behind her by foot anyway. He would reach her before long. As he debated between the tackle and the grab, Alina's trajectory swerved. She shouted. He noticed the pair of police officers in whose direction Alina was running. One had a cup of coffee in her hand; her partner drank from a plastic water bottle. They had noticed the commotion.

Alina would reach the police first. He slowed in his chase, feigned to being out of breath, wiping his hand against his brow, and trailed her to where she went.

'Stop her,' he shouted. 'Please.'

 

[Britwitch]

Alina wove in and out of people, her heart thundering in her chest as anxiety and panic battled to take over. She almost lost her balance more than once as she skittered between shoppers and business people on their lunch break. Her eyes always focused a few yards ahead, already planning a route through shopping bags, pushchairs and passers by.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the black limousine smoothly over take her, she didn't doubt that he, 'Death' was in pursuit but she didn't glance back to check how much of a lead she had built up. Leads could be lost easily and she had to keep running. Deciding to get away from the busy road would at least lessen the chances of the limousine blocking her path suddenly, she swerved off of the sidewalk and into a park.

Running on the grass was slightly easier on her bare feet but was littered with obstacles like rocks and small twigs that stung at her soles as she fled. Her hair was streaming back behind her as she hurdled a small dog and nimbly ran around a couple sat with their arms around each other, staring up aimlessly at the sky. Alina could feel the telltale burning in her lungs beginning as she forced her body to keep running, her eyes began to search desperately for somewhere to hide, anywhere.

Police. She saw two police officers. They could help. They could be her way out of this nightmare. She swiftly changed her path and sprinted towards them. Her mouth opening to call out for their assistance when a voice behind her almost caused her to fall over her own feet.
'Stop her,' He shouted. 'Please.'

She glanced back, for the first time, seeing his obvious ploys, a scowl creasing her brow and straightening her lips into an angry line. The female officer frowned at them both, tossing her coffee cup aside into a nearby trashcan and holding up her hands in an attempt to stop Alina.
"Ok hun, what's the hurry?" The female officer asked in what would have been a conversational tone were it not for the expression on her voice.

Alina knew who they were likely to believe as the 'injured' party. She was barefoot and dressed in the barest of clothes. He was dressed in a suit, every part the professional. Growling she turned sharply, now fleeing both the police and 'Death'. She didn't get far.

The air was pushed from her lungs as she was tackled to the ground, her wrists swiftly cuffed tightly behind her back.
"Please, let me go....you don't understand..." Alina began as she was unceremoniously hauled to her feet. "You can't let him take me..."
"No one's taking anyone anywhere yet, hun, just calm down and let's find out what's happening here..." The female officer replied smoothly, handing her cuffed wrists to the hands of her partner as 'Death' arrived on the scene. Alina's eyes narrowed as she looked into his face, seeing the almost smug expression looking back at her.

"Alright, sir, care to explain just what's going on here...?" The policewoman asked him bluntly. "At the moment the only reason we've intervened is because this young lady appeared just as nervous of us as she is of you..." The woman's eyes moved to Alina for a second, taking in her slightly dishevelled appearance, small leaves in her hair from when she had been tackled, aling with her barefeet she looked more than a little wild. "So...what's the story...?"

 

[qerasija]

Turning from Alina, he gestured the police officer to him. Extracting a card from his wallet, he presented it to her. It read Ernst Lanzer, M.D., Ph.D. The card identified him as Associate Director of Psychiatry at a sanatorium in Innsbruck. He also passed along his driving license as proof of this identity.

The man who was not Ernst Lanzer -- it was no more his name than Death -- spoke English with only the ghost of a German influence. More important than how he enunciated his speech, he lied fluently, and with a spy's instinctive grasp of incidental detail. He spun a story about Alina, the sole scion of a wealthy family. As there were no other siblings, a considerable fortune in munitions (her father's) and South African gold mines (her mother's) would be the girl's own in half a generation's time. Sadly, poor Alina was ill. She had always been a sickly child and with busy parents and no brothers or sisters or companions of her own age and only inattentive nannies, indifferent servants, and bored tutors for company, she inhabited a childhood of solitary daydreams. In her adulthood, Alina was prone to delusions. She painted conspiracies in her wakefulness.

Alina had been his patient for two years. Her mental health had progressively improved under a regimen that he had prescribed, but suddenly and unexpectedly the madness had returned, with Alina exclaiming fantastic stories of secret societies, shadow governments, even a clandestine trafficking in slaves. If it were only the exertions of a hyperactive mind, the girl could be treated with drugs. However, she had become a danger, to herself and to others. She had threatened to kill herself if the Committee were not supplanted. What the Committee was, she would not say. Her father was a member, she maintained, and deserved to die for his crime. Her mother didn't rate so high. She was his bedslave. Alina fancied herself nothing more than the graduate of an obscure provincial university who now taught at a secondary school. In truth, she had abandoned Cambridge before she was sent down.

When Alina shouted that he was lying, he gave a sad smile to the police officer.

Quite obviously, he continued, the parents, neither of whom served on any committees other than the boards of corporations or the advisory units of the art museum and the orchestra, were sick with worry. Lanzer had received an urgent communication the previous morning from Alina's mother. (They were the sort of family for whom his services were on call.) The expense, he confided, was stratospheric, and honesty compelled him to add that there were psychiatrists as capable in this country itself, but Alina's mother was Austrian and insisted on a psychoanalyst from her homeland, where the Freudian school were intellectual descendants of the man from Moravia himself.

Once more, he regarded Alina, who was sputtering with rage. Her face was red. She looked incapable of a coherent reply, repeating only the word 'no' like a mantra.

Lanzer spoke as if the girl were not shouting. An initial examination of the patient conducted in the afternoon indicated a non-permanent deterioration of Alina's mental faculties, he pronounced. The illness, however, had worsened in its relapse. It had been decided in consultation with Alina's parents that it would be best to pursue treatment in Innsbruck. It was certainly more convenient for him, but as well the family wanted Alina at a remove during her recovery. The family corporations, when she inherited them, would be on sounder footing were it not generally known that their owner had required psychiatric treatment.

In one of her more cogent phases, Alina had agreed that though she was an adult, her mental well-being would be the remit of her parents. A signed testament to this effect could be sent by facsimile from his offices if the police were to request documentation for this assertion. As it was, he and Alina were on route to the airport to fly to Vienna and then to Innsbruck. At a stop light, Alina, who referred to him as Death, had attempted an escape. He had given chase. Lanzer explained that he was not in the marathon form of his youth or dressed for running, so it was solely due to the good fortune of the officers' presence that he had been able to recover Alina. Lanzer then straightened and made a formal request that she be released to his professional custody.

Behind him, he heard Alina's sobs. He trusted that she would one day forgive him for what he had to do, now and later.

 

[Britwitch]

Alina struggled and twisted against the firm grip of the police officer holding her cuffed wrists, her eyes wide and lips parted in disbelief as 'Death' told his fantastical tale.
"You can't...you can't believe him...he...they...they kidnapped me..." She insisted to the officer, her tone pleading but her words fell on deaf ears. 'Death's tone was sincere and his story told with such confidence that for a few terrifying moments, she almsot found herself believing him. Face red with fury and eyes glittering madly, Alina continued to pull and fight against the cuffs, repeating her insistent cries over and over again.

Soon enough though she saw the confused and suspicious looks in the police officers' eyes become ones of pity and sympathy. 'Death' had won, they had bought his story and given her attire and actions she could hardly blame them. He looked every part the eminent psychologist and she the wild, deranged patient. She didn't even realise she was crying until the cool, salty liquid touched her lips. Alina couldn't say if they were tears of defeat or merely defiance. He might have won this battle but she would not give in, could not give in. Not yet.

She heard him asking for the police to hand her over to him, something they were only a breath away from agreeing to. The situation was lost, Alina knew that, but still she could not simply surrender.
"No...I won't, I won't go...you can't make me..." She pulled so hard against the hands holding her that she wasn't certain she wouldn't hurt herself. "Make him send you it, make him send the testament...then you'll see...then you'll see..it's lies...it's all lies....!!" She screamed, knowing the scene had drawn the gaze off the park goers and now there were hardly any eyes not watching. Alina knew she wasn't helping her cause, not in the slightest, she looked more unstable with each cry, but the more people that looked, the more that stared uncomfortably at them, there was at least some chance that someone might intervene, that someone might remember seeing her, might say something...to someone.

She was clutching at straws and they were all beyond her reach but it was not in her nature to give in without a fight. If 'Death' didn't know that about her by now then she could at least celebrate privately that their research hadn't been as thorough as they would like to think. Alina's eyes were focused on 'Death', focusing all of her hurt and anger and rage at him. She hated him, more than she'd ever hated anyone or thought she'd be capable of hating anything and one day, some day, she swore she would make him pay for what he was doing.