Page 18 of Ricochet
He had hair as dark as midnight, and a curiosity of a little dog. I pulled a knife out of my pocket and handed it to him, the blade shining under the sunlight coming through the windows. I was hoping it would rain.
It sets the whole mood up.
“Keep talking, Svetlana.”
“Please don’t hurt him. Please.” Sobs wracked her body, but she didn’t move from the chair. I knew she could if she tried, but we both also knew that this would be over much faster if she did so. “Misha is my whole world.”
“Ah.” I touched his head. “Misha.”
He lifted his head, his attention going from me to the knife in his hands. As soon as I saw the red handle in the safehouse, I knew I had to have this knife. Maybe I could put it with the rest of my collection.
“I don’t know where Evgeniy is!” she yelled at me, and I tightened my hold on the boy’s head.
“Careful now, Svetlana.” I laughed. “We don’t want this to be over even before it starts.”
“I am begging you. Please let us go.”
“But I can’t do that, love.” I stood up, taking the boy’s hand in my own, and walked closer to her. “Because I know you have the necessary information. I know he contacted you just yesterday, and judging by those suitcases,” I pointed to the two suitcases stationed next to the door. “You also know where you’ll be going.”
“Please.” Tears cascaded down her face freely. I kneeled behind Misha, looking at her over his shoulder.
“Where is Evgeniy, Svetlana?”
“I don’t know!” she screamed.
I blew a raspberry on Misha’s cheek, and his laughter vibrated around us.
“Are you sure about that?” I stood up and placed my hands on Misha’s shoulders. He craned his head back, and looked at me with a childish smile, not a worry in the world. I caressed his cheek as Svetlana started pulling at the zip ties, trying to break free.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t fucking know!” Her body went limp in the chair, her eyes as well as her face, red from crying. “Just let us go.”
“You see,” I took the knife from Misha, and a small frown started at his face, “I think you just need an incentive to talk.”
“What?” Her eyes followed my every movement. I pulled Misha closer to me. “What are you going to do? You aren’t going to kill a child?”
She smiled—a forced smile—because even she knew I would do everything in order to get what I wanted.
“Maybe,” I brought the knife closer to his face. “Maybe not.”
“You’re a psychopath!”
“I prefer creative. Now,” I pulled the little boy’s hair, exposing his neck to my blade, “for the last time, where is he? Where is your husband?”
Her eyes frantically jumped from me to the door, but even if she managed to run outside, she would have to leave her son behind, and that wasn’t going to happen.
“Where is Evgeniy?” I yelled at her. “I promise you, if you give me his location, no harm will come to either of you. You have my word.”
“He’s in Volgograd!” she suddenly screamed. “He’s in Volgograd and yes, he contacted me, but only to tell me to leave the city and go somewhere safe. Please, please,” she sobbed. “That’s all I know. He never said his address or anything like that. I just know the city he’s in.”
“I believe you—”
“Please, let us go.”
“I believe you, okay?” She stopped struggling for a moment, her breathing calming down.
“Thank you.”
