A PALE HORSE

Maggie slumped lazily in a chair looking out at the early morning washing over the garden. She imagined what it would look like in the summer, ablaze with color and warming sunlight, and she was a little sad that she would most likely never see it in its verdant glory. She had determined that there was not any chance on God’s green Earth that she would return until Lev was taken care of, either by incarceration or… other means. She watched as kestrels gamboled and dove among the icicled trees and drank a steamy cup of tea fresh from the samovar next to her, absently fingering the pendant around her neck. She grabbed for her tablet and clicked open her news feed. She was scrolling through the latest when she stumbled on some footage from a local convention. The item was not from a news source, at least neither of the big two, anyway. It was instead done by one of the participantsU. It showed a winged creature saving a woman from taking a header off a third floor balcony. Maggie watched the attached video four times in hopes of discovering some sort of elaborate set up for the convention, after all a crazy-looking, angelic creature helping a damsel in distress at a comic book convention? It was every con-goer’s dream! She giggled to herself and took another sip. What will they try next, she thought. Sensationalism, girl- it’s your line. Well, really HER line was truth: unapologetic, unadulterated, and unrestricted. She studied the article and the video, trying to pick out where the obvious signs of theatrics being at play lay, although she had to admit that it looked incredibly real. She downloaded a copy for Mikey. Maybe she could think of something to do with it after her current piece was finished. Maggie had texted him earlier that morning, and debriefed him with what she had found on Lev Avatov. She had been left at the Avatov compound- sort of like hiring DB Cooper to guard Fort Knox overnight, she thought. If they only knew! She perused the paintings she had seen earlier on her tour, but, in actuality she was noting anything and everything she could to use during her “quiet time” later, when the guards had settled down. The house had multiple corridors she had not explored, and where there were corridors, there were definitely rooms to sleuth through. She had to wait for Max and Boris to return from the airport and, since not too far away from the mansion and Lev was not going to be around, Maggie talked Max into letting her stay while he and Boris were away. It had taken quite a bit of encouragement to get Max to relent, as he felt she wouldn’t be safe. “Darling, you worry too much! Trust me, I’ll be careful. Your father won’t even be here, but, even if he does show up, he seemed to like me.” She reached up, threw her arms about his neck, kissed him quickly, gave him a wink and said, “Now that that’s settled, what are you going to pick up for me while you are out? I hear St Petersburg is absolutely loaded with places for a strong, handsome man to pick up a pretty bauble for a deserving girl!” Max had smiled reluctantly and gone into a bit of detail about some of the local shops, but Maggie had quit listening and was instead planning her moves to make certain she covered as much ground as she could, as quickly and quietly as she could. There were more than a few moments while Max was gone that Maggie had wished that she had left with him. Lev Avatov has a few people, Maggie thought, that even I would not want to meet in a dark alley. Petrov Abramkin was one of the men that was stationed at the Avatov compound. While he wasn’t forthcoming with information, or really talkative at all, he was told by his boss to allow Maggie to see the artwork around the compound. Maggie was shown the antiquities in the Avatov vault as promised, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Of course not, she thought to herself wryly. You are most definitely being watched! A man like Avatov takes zero chances and leaves nothing unattended, so watch your step. She reached up to the pendant and toggled the imperceptible microswitch. Look up first, always. Every room, every hallway. Find the camera- find the eyes. Petrov took Maggie all over the compound and was the perfect host, but he gave Maggie a bad feeling. He stared at her a little too much and she caught him sniffing her hair when she stopped to look at a painting that caught her eye. This guy has probably not been on a date in a very long time. Maggie found herself wondering if mobsters actually WENT out on dates? Did they just order hookers? Did they marry? Have kids? Go to church? She had watched enough gangster movies to know that the picture that was painted of the traditional Sicilian mob family was not even close to reality, and she had to assume that it was much the same here in the Motherland. In her research, she had discovered a very businesslike approach to organized crime in the major cities here. Many syndicates were comprised of now-grown members of orphanages and gyms. She couldn’t picture Max being in league with them. That was not the man she knew… the man she knew, as she herself was known? Touche, brain, Maggie thought. Knock that off. She had resolved to tell him as soon as she could when they were safe. Safety first, she thought, truth later. Maggie spent the morning meandering up and down the aisles of Avatov’s various galleries and display areas. She had a friend who was an art history major in college and she would have given anything for him to be here as she gazed upon the painting No. 6 by Mark Rothko. Her art history friend Mel had told her all about the Russian billionaire that had purchased the painting in 2014. Maggie wasn’t an art history major herself, but she would have bet her last nickel that the portrait that hung on the wall in the Avatov compound was the same painting that sold for $186 million at auction. She would also bet that for every painting or work of art displayed here that Lev had paid good money for, there were five that were ill-gotten. The thought made Maggie shudder. She did not put it past Lev Avatov to kill for a painting... or a sculpture, or a rare bottle of wine. Lev got what he wanted, damn the dirty work. After he had shown her everything he could think of in the Avatov compound, droning incessantly on with vanilla talking points that PBS would be proud of on each piece, Petrov led Maggie back to the library and ordered her to stay put. He had other obligations and they didn’t include chaperoning her the rest of the afternoon. She had agreed to wait for Boris and Max in the library, so Petrov had left her to her own devices, with specific instructions to not wander.

“Maxim should return soon, so please to stay here and wait. No walking freely around, yes?” Petrov had said, trying to seem nice.

“Oh, absolutely!” she had said, clasping her hands in front of her and flashing him a fantastic grin, the very picture of innocence and trustworthiness. Petrov exited the far side of the library with a satisfied grunt, and Maggie waited for the sound of the big man’s footsteps to recede out of earshot. Seeing her chance, Maggie decided to go exploring for herself. She gingerly opened the door on the opposite end of the library and glanced around the corridor. She was, of course, looking for any of Lev Avatov’s goony henchmen, but she also wanted to gage the general activity level on the second floor of the house; servants working in the areas she was hoping to snoop in would not be a good thing. She scanned with her eyes and ears and, not seeing anyone around, she snuck out of the library and down the hallway. The hallway she found herself in was dark and very empty. The thick carpet muffled her footfalls, and she found that she was able to fast-walk without much noise at all… all the better. The quicker she found what she was looking for, the less likely that she would be missed from the library. She looked in room after room until she found the one that had caught her attention upon her initial visit. The chamber wasn’t out of the ordinary, but she had noticed a door partially hidden behind a large tapestry when she and Leclerc had visited the room the first time. She had cocked an eyebrow in his direction upon seeing it partially revealed and he had returned the gesture without speaking. Come to think of it, thought Maggie, hadn’t it been Leclerc who brushed the tapestry aside while he was showing me the Cezanne? Did he mean for me to see it? She thought on this as she quickly and quietly strode over to the door and tried the handle. She had half-expected it to be locked, or, at the very least, if unlocked, a massive, eerie groaning when she tried to open it. Maggie was shocked to find that the door opened easily and silently. She couldn’t believe her luck. No. Way. Maggie took advantage by pulling the door open and slipping through. She found a stairway leading up. This surprised her a little because she thought if anything untowards were going on surely it would be beneath the ground. She climbed the staircase. She knew it must be hidden inside the walls because there was no evidence of a staircase on the outside of the house. She knew the outside of the house was only two stories, and she was coming to the end of the staircase, so she assumed this must lead to the attic area. What she found at the top of the stairs intrigued her, and also set the hairs on the back of her neck to tingling. The landing was not dusty, ancient, or abandoned. It was clean, the wooden floor polished, and it was well-lit. On your toes, girl… this is not the forgotten, ancient room you were thinking. If not, what IS it? The door was especially surprising; too new and too high tech to be part of the original house plans. Maggie figured this was added much more recently. The door reminded her of the one that she had seen at the UN building a few years ago, and she noticed a retinal scanner along with a fingerprint reader on the wall. Biometrics were all the rage when it came to physical security; she had been searched enough to know that there was something valuable behind this particular door. But was it valuable to Lev Avatov, or to someone who opposed him? She had to see what was behind it! Dead end for now, she thought. She possessed neither the requisite hand or eye to get into this room.

She stood looking at the door, wondering what it protected, when she heard a soft voice say, “Who’s there? Mon dieu, Petrov is that you? You worm-man!...come to torture me some more?”

Maggie was at a loss, the voice on the other side of the door was clearly female and had said something about being tortured by the super- creepy Petrov.

“Hello? Hello?” Maggie asked quietly through the door.

“Who-? Who are you? Are you a servant? No, not a servant. You are American, no?” the voice became more agitated and fervent, speaking faster. “You cannot help me, and you cannot stay, whoever you are. My husband will harm a woman just as readily as he will a man! Leave, now!” Maggie heard the person on the other side of the door approach the door.

“I need to get you out of there! Have you been harmed? Your husband?? Are you married to Lev Avatov?” Maggie was unaware that Lev had been remarried after Max’s mother’s death, but she was much more concerned at the moment that there was a woman on the other side of the door who had been regularly tortured. What she heard next almost knocked her out.

“I am Margueritte Manette Avatov. Who are you and why are you here?” Maggie was dumbfounded, Max had told her that his mother was dead, so either he was a really good actor or he didn’t know his mother was alive!

“Max’s mother!?” she asked, incredulously. The woman’s voice went from frail to frantic.

“You have seen my son? How is he? It has been a long time since I have seen anyone but Petrov. How did you come to be here? You must leave before you are found!” Margueritte said in a flurry. She sounded distressed to Maggie.

“I can’t leave you here! How long have you been here?” Maggie asked her.

“You must leave, if they find you here you will not live long enough to tell anyone that I am here! You must tell Maxim that I am here! Tell him that I am here and that... I love my little Phillipe! Tell him that! Go! Tell him!”

Maggie was confused, “Who’s Phillipe?”

The woman had come to sit on the floor just on the other side of the door and spoke softly, with melancholy. “Maxim Ygevny Phillipe Avatov, I did not choose his name but I added Phillipe to the birth certificate without Lev’s knowledge. It was not the worst beating I ever had. I was nursing at the time.” Maggie heard the door open down the stairs.

“Is there another way out of here? Damn! Someone’s coming!” She heard something crash into the door downstairs and some soft cursing as if someone had dropped something.

“I’m sorry, but I do not know. I haven’t been out of this room in years. I do remember seeing a window, but I’m not exactly sure where it is. Go now before you are caught!” Maggie raced down the stairs until she saw the window in question. Frantically, she pulled on the window latch to get it to release. She could hear the steps drawing closer to where she was. Finally the latch gave way and the window opened. The ledge outside the window was not large enough to stand on but as she leaned out the window Maggie caught sight of a trellis that ended just under the window. She scanned below to see if anyone would notice her should she step out of the building. The backside of the house appeared to be unguarded for now, so she crawled out the window and stepped carefully onto the top of the trellis. She very quickly and quietly closed the window until she was satisfied that whoever was coming up the stairs would not see it was open. Just as she started to duck outside the window, she saw a person coming up the steps holding a tray toward the lone door at the top. She heard the keypad beep as the combination was punched into the keypad. The man told Margueritte to move back and he opened the door to her prison. As the door closed behind him, Maggie took a chance and climbed back in through the window and made her way down the stairs Maggie rushed through the hall on her way to the library when someone stepped out of a doorway in front of her.

“Where are you going, miss?”

Maggie stopped with a little squeak, she put her hand on her chest and said “You startled me! I was trying to find the bathroom, but all the doors look alike and I can’t remember where that man said it was. Can you help me, please?” she smiled sweetly.

“I will take care of her, Andrei. Go back to your duties.” Maggie winced when she heard Petrov’s voice, but she was prepared and quickly regained herself. In her line of work, it was not uncommon to get caught in places she wasn’t supposed to be, and she had become quite adept at wriggling out of trouble when the need arose.

Lord, she pleaded silently, get me out of this! I need to be able to tell Max about his mother! She spun around and smiled at him, looking grateful and reaching out a hand to grasp his arm, slumping over as if to catch her breath. She appeared to be very flustered and genuinely upset. So far, so good, she thought. “Thank God!” she exclaimed, which she was literally now doing. “Petrov was it? Petrov, I thought I could remember the way but I was mistaken. Could you show me where the bathroom is?” He rolled his eyes derisively and frowned.

Tupaya korova! (Stupid cow!) she heard him mutter under his breath. “Miss, if you had paid attention earlier you would have known it was across the hall from the Library. Now, if you will follow me, I will see you to the bathroom and then back to the library. Mr. Avatov does not allow unaccompanied visitors in his home, and I wouldn’t want anything to befall you. After all, you are a guest.” His tone was very condescending and it made Maggie want to punch him in the nose. She felt relieved that she seemed to be in the clear, once again. She silently congratulated herself for her quick thinking and superb acting. The clearing of a throat made both Maggie and Petrov turn to see Max standing in the hallway.

He gave Maggie a nod and said to Petrov, “I am glad you are so concerned with Maggie’s welfare, Petrov. I would have not been pleased at all to find out that any harm had come to her in my absence,” Max said with a voice of steel.

Maggie noticed Petrov pall a little at the veiled threat but he did not back down, instead he said, “Then I will let you show yourselves out. Good day, tovarisch.” He gave Maggie another sneer before he turned and made his way down the hall.

“Max! Thank God you came back when you did! I have something that I need to share with you.” Max laid a finger over her lips to quiet her and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Not here, the walls have ears here.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead and escorted her back through the hall, past the library and out the door to his waiting car. Once they were safely inside his car and on their way back to Max’s mansion, he turned to Maggie and said, “Now what is it that you needed to tell me so desperately?” he asked her with a grin. It always amazed Maggie at the transformation that came over Max’s countenance once he was away from his father or any of his father’s henchmen. He became almost carefree, as if a great weight is lifted from him whenever he is away from them. It made her more determined to get him away from this life. Maggie looked at the man that sat across from her, and she knew without even needing a mirror to see it, that he was seeing love in her eyes. That is what she felt. She loved Max, and it was that love that made her realize that she didn’t know what to say or how to say it, so she did the next best thing; she bought herself some time to think while she stalled.

“I went on the tour at Lev’s place. He really does have some valuable pieces! Was that really Rothko’s No. 6?” Maggie asked him.

“Yes, it was, but I doubt that the painting and your admiration of is what you could not wait to discuss, is it, kiska?” He lifted his left eyebrow and gave her a smirk as he drove. The look said spill it already.

She cleared her throat and said in a rush, “Your mother is still alive. She’s alive, Max!” He looked fiercely at her and swung the large black sedan into a parking lot.

The announcement stole the boyishness from his face as he said in a quiet voice, “That cannot be.”

This is too important for him not to believe me! she thought. Should I play him the recording? Maggie motionlessly shook her head, removing the idea from her obviously addled brain. No, you dope! You cannot reveal everything now! Think, Mags, think! Use your words, he’ll believe you, eventually. Maggie swallowed audibly before saying, “Your mother, Margueritte, is alive Max. I spoke to her today. Through a door, but she talked to me.”

He grabbed her hand and held it to his chest, looking at her with pleading eyes and said, “My mother died a long time ago. I do not know who you think you spoke with, but it was not her.” His voice told her that he didn’t believe, but his face told another story. She could see the boy he must have once been- devoted to his mother and beauty and culture and kindness and life. She watched as he went from disbelief to anger and finally to hope. Even as his head was telling him that it was impossible, his heart was telling him that maybe she was, in fact, alive.

“Look Max, I know you don’t really believe it.” Max stopped her and brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“That is where you are wrong. I believe you. You would not lie to me. I do not have the luxury of companions or friends that tell me the truth. I do not even have a family that will not lie to me to suit their purposes. Maggie, I may doubt who you spoke with on the other side of a door, but I truly believe that YOU believe she is who she says, because, you do not lie to those you love.”

Oof! Maggie felt the gut punch as distinctly as she would have the real thing. You do not lie to those you love. His words ricocheted around her brain like a wayward, frenzied bullet, ripping her to shreds and flooding her with guilt. What had she done but lie to him, since the day they met? Now isn’t the time for this, she thought. She willed herself to push the feeling aside and pulled her hand back gently. “Max, she asked me to tell you…” she paused and pushed on through her embarrassment, “she loves her little Phillipe.” After she said the words she watched the most astonishing thing happen, the man of steel melted into a puddle of tears. He wept openly and unashamedly in front of Maggie. He shook with the force and strength of his emotions, and Maggie reached out and held him, stroking his umber hair and rocking slowly, silently reaching up to turn off her pendant. This was a private moment. Max must be feeling so many things, she thought. Joy, surely- he must be over the moon that his mom is still alive. What about the time lost? The regret of missing time with his mother? What about the anger? As she held Max, she felt like she could feel a fury welling up within the mammoth man, and it scared her. For him. With this knowledge, what will he do? Will he confront Lev? Certainly, it would be in Max’s character to demand justice for his mother and his sister, being lied to and left for years without their dear mother. Lev Avatov was ruthless, heartless, without remorse, and utterly indifferent to anything that he didn’t want or deem valuable. That included his family. While these thoughts toyed with her, Max’s sobs subsided and the shaking was no longer coming from him being wracked with emotions of joy. Now the shaking was coming from a very different, very serious place. Max was enraged and she could see it in his red eyes, eyes filled with blood and vengeance.

With tears coursing down his face he looked at Maggie and said, “Where is she? Where is my mother? Where in that vile place is she???” The plea came from a place of knowing and disbelief. He knew where- she had only been in his father’s home. He knew who, but he still couldn’t believe it. She confirmed his suspicions with her words.

“There is a room, a secret upstairs room.”

“How did you get upstairs? Petrov would never allow it, nor would my father.”

Damn, she thought. He’s right. She continued quickly, “I went to find the bathroom and instead found a door behind a tapestry that led up a staircase to a door at the very end. Your mother was there. She sounded so relieved! She said she had been held captive there for a long time. She also told me to leave because she couldn’t get out and I couldn’t be found.” Maggie could tell that Max was livid. His face had turned crimson and he was clenching his jaw so hard she thought his teeth would crack. Without a word, Max put the car into gear and spun out of the parking lot. Maggie knew they were headed back to the Avatov compound; back to a showdown. She knew that a reckoning at the compound was inevitable, and she was afraid. Not only was she afraid for herself, but also for Max. This revelation would have dire consequences for someone. “Max, I have to tell you that your mother told me, inadvertently, that they torture her on a regular basis. I’m not sure in what way because she never said, but even being locked away against your will is torture.” Max didn’t say a word, he just kept steadily weaving his way through traffic. They pulled into the Avatov compound in record time. Boris met them in the driveway and placed a hand on Max’s chest. Max pushed him away and told him to watch Maggie. Boris sneered in Maggie’s direction, before following Max inside. Maggie quickly got out of the car, switched on her recorder, and followed Max into the house, Boris trailing her. He came to the room in which Maggie knew the hidden door resided. He threw open the door and nearly ran over Petrov in the process.

“Maxim, did you forget something?” Petrov asked with a smile. Max growled in response and pushed past him looking for the hidden door. Maggie saw him yank the tapestry that was hiding the door off the wall and pull the door open so hard that it banged against the newly bared spot behind it. Petrov tried to stop Max from going through the door by grabbing him from behind, but Max in his fury was an unstoppable force. He grabbed Petrov by the neck and shook him like a ragdoll before tossing him into a table in the corner. He didn’t get up but Maggie let out a breath when she heard him groan, he wouldn’t be out long. Maggie followed Max up the stairs while Boris stayed below. Maggie didn’t trust Boris, but at the moment, her need to help Max was greater that staying below and watching Boris. Maggie watched as Max came upon the door at the top of the stairs. He took in the lock and pushed past Maggie as he flew back downstairs.

Maggie went to the door and said, “Margueritte?” She waited a moment or two before calling out again. There was no answer from inside the room. Maggie heard Max coming back up the stairs with a sickly looking Petrov in tow.

“Open it! Give me the passcode or I will kill you where you stand!” he said in a deadly voice.

“Max!” Maggie gasped. “Stay out of this. I told you to wait in the car.” Maggie took in his steely expression and decided silence was the best option at the moment. Petrov looked at Max and said, “You can kill me if you want, but if I let her out of there I will be a dead man anyway.” Max growled again, grabbed Petrov’s right hand and broke the smallest finger.

Petrov screamed in pain as Max leaned over to whisper, “I learned from Lev many things. You will tell me the combination to this door or your finger is not the only thing I will break today.”

Petrov swallowed hard before he said in a weak voice, “It is your birthday.” Max stumbled back against the wall before catching himself. He turned and tried the code and the door unlocked with a click. He pushed open the door and stepped through to see small room with no windows. Max could see that the inside of the room was kept neat. There were no comforts to the room itself except a table and single chair, a small bathroom with a toilet and sink only, and a small bed in the corner. On the bed was a skeletal figure, she was small with dark hair and a ragged gown that looked to Maggie to be two sizes too small. It rode up her skeletal thighs almost exposing her most private parts. Max only took two steps and he was at her side smoothing the hair away from her thin face.

He looked up at Maggie and with an almost helpless expression and said, “What is wrong with her, Maggie?”

Maggie looked at Max helplessly and started searching around the room looking for anything that would explain why the woman she spoke with earlier lay so still and lifeless on the bed. She went over to the small table next to the washroom and noticed the edge of a bottle sticking out from underneath a washcloth. As she bent over to retrieve the bottle, she heard Max swear and a thud followed by a yelp from Petrov.

“What is wrong with her?? What have you done to my mother?” Max was holding Petrov so tightly up against the door frame that the other man was turning blue, his lips opening and closing but no words were forthcoming.

“Max! He has to be able to breathe to speak, but I may have found your answer.” She showed him the bottle that she had found.

“Scopolamine?” Max sounded confused.

“They call it Devil’s Breath. It makes a person unable to fight or assert their will in any way.” Maggie said, sounding disgusted. “It is used by perverts to drug a woman. A date rape drug, mostly.” She heard Max growl and watched as he picked Petrov up and tossed him down the staircase. Maggie decided that if he wasn’t dead he was going to wish he were when he woke up. Max turned and went back to the bed on which his mother was resting. Maggie could see that she had not eaten enough and was emaciated. Seeing Margueritte in her current state made Max sorrowful; his once vibrant, funny and beautiful mother so severely neglected. Her hair, though neat and clean, was not the shimmering mass of curls he remembered so well from his youth. Now, the hair atop her head was a dull and lifeless black with no discernable curl or wave.

Dead, Max thought. Like my mother was. How much had been stolen from them? His eyes stung and he wiped away bitter, acidic tears. How many birthdays, holidays, outings, quiet talks? How many moments when he needed his mother and instead had to run to her captor, his father, the villain of his nightmare? He looked lovingly at his mother. Her eyes were dark-rimmed and sunken. Her once perfectly-rouged cheekbones were gaunt. Her skin appeared papery and ashen, and anyone looking at her from across a room would think her a corpse.

“Max! Max! We have to get her somewhere safe before Lev returns!” Maggie snapped him from his bout of nostalgia and pity. Max grunted in response and scooped up the frail frame into his arms, so carefully. Maggie watched for a moment. The way Max held his mother as if she were the most precious thing in his world made her almost cry. The tenderness that Max displayed could only come from a place of indomitable strength and courage. Whatever was going to transpire with Max and Lev, Maggie was certain that Max would not back down until he felt that he had exacted all of the justice due his family. Maggie quickly grabbed the threadbare blanket from atop the bed and laid it over Max’s mother, trying to be as gentle with her as her son. They made their way carefully down the staircase to the room that held the hidden door, both gingerly stepping and constantly checking on the frail woman.

As they reached the tapestry door, Max heard a voice say, “Maxim, I am disappointed. Margueritte, did you not teach the boy not to touch things that do not belong to him?”

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