Page 29 of Volatile Waters

“Meh.” I shrugged through exhaustion. “He was no longer of use for me. You are.”

Tears streamed down his young face as I explained that his father was a drug dealer and also dabbling in a “trade” business and that Harry himself was being groomed to join our line of work. He asked, “Do I have a choice?” I shook my head. I wasn’t lying. He had been born into a family that would, eventually, be his demise. “Can this training wait?”

I was shocked to feel a bit of respect for the young teenager not trying to run from his destiny. “You have something more important to do?” He nodded. Intriguing me, I gestured for him to explain.

He finally conceded. “I made a promise.” I hand gestured for more. “Timothy has—” With a touch of regret I didn’t miss, Harry corrected himself, “I mean, had a little sister.” His expression of dismay faded into sadness. “I-I held Timothy as he died where you left him.” I watched him swallow as he fought more tears. “White foam.” He pointed to his own mouth. “He had white foam—” Then he shook his head as if refusing to relive the gory memory of witnessing his new friend’s overdose. “His last words were him begging me to watch over his Little T-Treasure.” Tears finally fell as he spoke with hopelessness. “But I don’t know how to find her. Dad won’t tell me who Timothy was. Can you tell me, so I can find her?”

Clueless to all the hearts Whitney Summers would capture, I asked, “You are rather young for such responsibility, no?”

Angrily, he wiped at his wet cheeks. “But not too young to learn about how to sell drugs?”

I didn’t answer because his point was sound and not one I could argue with, nor could I let him know who ‘Little T’ was. “No. I don’t know who Timothy’s little sister is.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. He believed me and moved our conversation along. “Does my mom know what my dad is doing?” I nodded. His Adam's apple bobbed, but no more tears were shed as he stared out of the plane window. “I don’t believe you.”

I laid my seat back, so in need of rest. “You may not believe this either, but I understand. I, too, had to learn that my father and mother were not who I thought them to be. I felt very alone.”

Hope laced his next question. “But you don’t anymore?”

If only. “I wish this were the case.” With sorrow, my tired eyes slid shut. “Now, I know… I am alone.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

With Harry being so young and overwhelmed in a foreign country, there was no need to blindfold him. As Adrian drove us from the airport, he shrunk his body to avoid touching us. We contained him between Kirill and me to keep him from leaping from the moving vehicle. His eyes darted to the door handles with every breath he took.

My other two men had taken separate vehicles to go to their homes.

I told the boy, “Where we are going, there are men that are not as kind as I.” Harry stared at me as if he did not think that possible. “So, it would behoove you to stay close to me, so I can protect you.”

My cellphone was vibrating in my pocket, yet again, so I finally answered it, not even checking to see the caller’s name. I already knew. Mr. Thompson bellowed, “You motherfucker!!!” Bored, I stared out the window and hung-up on him. “That is why your worried father keeps calling.” In the silence of the drive, my cell again vibrated.

“C-Can I talk to him?” asked the scared and trapped child.

“Not at the moment. If you earn it, then yes.”

“E-Earn it?” he asked as if sensing there was no good meaning behind my words.

He was correct.

Walking through the front door of my home, my father greeted us. He was beaming. I actually smiled in disbelief, thinking he missed his only son and was concerned for my injury. But that smile fell as he cheered in Russian, “The American is so angry! What possessed my son to be so brilliantly conniving?”

My cellphone continued to vibrate in my pocket, a painful reminder of just what a concerned father looked like.

Mine approached the alarmed Harry and switched to English. “Hello, dear boy. Welcome to my home.” In Russian, he told me, “Go to your room. I have surprises for you.” He put an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “I will care for our guest.”

Another wave of exhaustion flowed through my consciousness as I realized it was time to start formally training again. It was time to establish who Harry’s protector was so that the delusional trust between the two of us could begin. I removed my father’s arm from my subject and replaced it with my own. I was sure to speak in English so that Harry could comprehend who I considered dangerous for him. “That is not necessary, Father. I do not wish for anyone to mistreat Harry.”

Right on cue, the young teenager leaned into me, ever so slightly.

Chain reactions…

It was almost surreal, guiding Harry up the stairs I had seen his biological mother travel many times, sometimes on her knees, always as a slave, especially the night Harry was conceived. Harry was not to be a slave. My goal was not to have him on his knees, but he needed to understand the life of a slave in order to train them properly back in America.

Due to his biological mother’s petite size, Harry was also on the shorter side for his age. He was timidly observing everything around him, especially the front door. I couldn’t help but remember the first time his mother walked through that passage, before being abandoned and dragged into the basement, to have her first of many experiences of gang rape.

Entering my bedroom, I coyly asked Junior, “Think you can find your way back to the airport?” He wasn’t going to have the opportunity, but I was curious about his answer under such duress.

“I’ll figure it out.”