Chapter 18

Thule woke with the sun hitting him in the face. The alarm clock's display was lost in direct sunlight, so he had to stagger over to his desk to find out that it was just past six thirty. He groaned. Five and a half hours of sleep were not enough, not after yesterday or, for that matter, the whole week. He should go back to bed. But, there was too much to do and his tossing and turning would only serve to wake Sveta. He decided he would rather have an hour or two to get things done before he had to deal with her.

After his morning ablutions, Thule started coffee. He knew that he needed some and figured it a safe bet that Sveta would when she woke up. Between alcohol and whatever else she'd taken, she was bound to have a monster hangover.

Next, he booted up the computer in the living room in order to check his e-mail. As he answered the easy ones, he gave himself time to think about what he had accomplished and where he stood.

Brianne was, effectively, finished. At best, she had Elliot to dominate. Elliot's only real social standing came from being with Marigold. She might choose someone with higher social status as a boyfriend. But, it would be as a supplicant, not a princess and it would never have time to set before school was over. In a week, Thule would deliver the coup de grace. He realized that he was starting to feel bad about that again. Closing his eyes, he drew forth all of the faces of people he could remember whose lives she had ruined until he stopped feeling sorry for her and got angry at her again. In truth, he'd barely done anything to get her toppled. Pointing out that the emperor had no clothes hardly seemed like doing anything at all.

Thule still didn't understand entirely how Randy had gotten to the whole squad so quickly. He didn't believe Brianne's assertion that there had been something added to the beer. There were certainly plenty of drugs floating around But, systematically dosing every person at a party, ally and target alike, didn't really sound like Randy's style. And, while Thule had been in a high state of arousal pretty much the whole time, most of that could be blamed on Sveta and, while he hated to admit it, Brianne.

Getting up to stretch his legs, Thule walked to where he could look through the open doorway into his room. Svetlana was still lying there, face down, naked, evidence of the previous night's activities no more than a shiny patch on the backs of her thighs. For a few seconds, Thule debated waking her slowly, touching her, taking her more gently than he had the night before. But, he doubted she was going to wake up feeling particularly amorous, all things considered.

As he walked by the living room couch, Thule noticed that Svetlana's little purse had fallen over, spilling its contents on the floor. As he crouched down to gather it up, the three items that had spilled out caught his eye. The first was a plastic baggie with maybe a hundred white pills in it. Turning the bag over, he saw that they were stamped with sunflowers, peace symbols, and the capital letter "E." The second was a gold moneyclip with the letters RVA engraved on it, the V significantly larger than the R and A. It took Thule a second to remember that some monograms were done like that, the middlemost letter being the surname. So, the RVA stood for Randall Aaron Vandevoort. The topmost bill was a single, but most of the money was hundred dollar bills, maybe two thousand dollars in all. Sveta had been far too out of it to pick Randy's pocket on the way out. So, Thule was forced to assume that Randy had slipped it in there himself.

The third item was a keychain with a single key on it. The key was clearly emblazoned with the Mercedes-Benz logo. With a furtive glance towards the bedroom, Thule turned the purse upside down, spilling the rest of the contents on the floor. Hmmm. Lipstick, condoms, an expensive-looking Cross pen, more than a dozen credit and charge cards, all in her name, sixty dollars in twenties, Russian passport.

Finally, Thule found what he was looking for. Inside of the passport was Svetlana's New York State driver's license. It had been issued about two years before. Methodically, Thule replaced everything in the purse, more or less in the order it had come out, snapped it shut, and placed it on the end table by the couch. For someone who didn't drive, she certainly had a lot of driving-related paraphenalia.

As he poured himself a cup of coffee, Thule heard his e-mail client chime, announcing the arrival of new mail. He ambled over to the computer, scanning the new messages. As soon as he saw one was from Maya, responding to his message that Marigold wanted to help her out, he sat down to read it.

It said that she didn't want to accept help from Marigold, but was in desperate enough straits that she would listen to what Marigold had to offer. Also, it mentioned that she didn't have regular computer access and asked if it was okay to call Thule. And somehow, thought Thule wryly, it only took five thousand words to get that message across.

After only a momentary hesitation, Thule wrote back, "Yes. Call me," and added his home phone number. She should already know it by heart, but Thule wanted to leave nothing to chance considering her apparently deteriorating mental state. By the time he'd finished with the rest of his e-mail, she still hadn't called. Sighing, he poured another mug of coffee and went into the bedroom.

Placing the steaming hot mug on a side table, he gently rolled Svetlana over, "Sveta," he said, his tone conversational.

Svetlana opened her eyes and tried to focus on him through her hair. Thule reached down and gently pushed it out of her face.

"Dule," she said groggily, stretching and looking around, "It's true, then. Is no dream?"

Thule nodded, "I made you some coffee if you think you can handle it. The bathroom is right back there if you need to be sick..."

Svetlana sat up abruptly, "I never get..." She laid back slowly, her pallor noticeably greener, "... sick from drinking," she added weakly.

"You were also drugged," said Thule.

"Da," said Svetlana, shaking her head as she rose much more gingerly this time, "the boy, Ian, who raped me." She said it rather matter-of-factly.

Thule turned his back to her and went to the closet, "Right."

Svetlana stood up and accepted the bathrobe that Thule wrapped around her shoulders, "Dule," she said quietly, "I do not think he raped me."

"No," said Thule, his voice equally quiet, "I suppose not. But, he has raped enough people that he'll never get in trouble for, maybe even as recently as last night."

Svetlana laid a hand gently on Thule's shoulder from behind. He'd only bothered to throw on a pair of blue jeans when he got up and shivered a little at the touch, "Do you think he will get in trouble?" she asked.

"With the police?" asked Thule, "Probably not. To have him arrested would be for Ivan to acknowledge that Ian took something of value from him. He did not seem inclined to do that. But, he's in plenty of trouble with the Vandevoorts. And, that may be worse."

Svetlana nodded, sat back down on the bed, and took a deep swallow of coffee. She winced as it went down. It seemed like she was going to speak, so Thule waited patiently.

"Dule," she said, "I want to thank you."

Thule laughed, "Why am I afraid to ask what you're thanking me for?"

Svetlana laughed and lowered her head, looking strangely shy for a moment. Then, she said, "No. I did not mean that, although I am glad we did. I want to thank you for getting me out of there, not just leaving me for Ivan or one of his security guards to decide what to do." She shuddered a little, "And for taking me home with you. I heard Ivan tell you to leave me at a bus station."

Thule shrugged, "It wouldn't have been safe. You were barely dressed and barely conscious. That struck me as an unhealthy combination for public transportation."

"That is it," said Svetlana, as if she'd just figured it out, "Thank you for caring what happened to me. If you were not there, Ivan probably would have taken me as far as the front gate and thrown me out with the clothes on my back."

"Erm," said Thule, scratching the back of his head, "about that..." He glanced down at the backless black dress, torn across the front.

Svetlana laughed, "It was ruined anyway. But, I will need some clothes. Do you have anything that will even remotely fit me--enough to go shopping for more?"

"Well," said Thule, "if you wrapped a belt around Randy's shirt, it would be almost as long as the dress."

Svetlana picked up the shirt, examining it, "I think that 'almost' would cross the fine line between 'fashion statement' and 'felony.'"

Thule glanced at her suspiciously. For someone with as limited a grasp of English as Svetlana pretended, that was a remarkably astute observation, "I could go into town and pick up something for you to wear. What are your sizes?"

Svetlana told him. By the time she was done explaining all of the vagaries of sizing in women's clothing, Thule realized that he would have no idea of what to buy her.

"Err," he said, "on the other hand, I could probably find some pants from when I was younger. You look like you're about the size I was when I was 13 or 14."

Svetlana nodded, "There is one small problem, though."

"Oh?" asked Thule.

"I do not have very much cash in my purse and I do not know if my credit cards will work," said Svetlana, "This is not Ivan's first divorce. He is probably getting pretty good at them by now."

Thule nodded, "We should move quickly, then. Why don't you get a shower while I get some clothes down from the attic?"

Svetlana smiled, "You come in later to wash my back?"

"Sveta," said Thule heavily.

"I am kidding," she said, smiling, "But, tell me you wanted to, just for a second."

"I wanted to," said Thule, "I still want to. But..."

Svetlana's smile was even wider, "Thank you, Dule. But, answer me something, please?"

"If I can," said Thule.

"Why even once?" she asked, "I could sense that you didn't want to. And, you do not strike me as the sort who just accumulates notches in his belt. You sent Matika away when you could have had both of us."

"Matika was a ringer," said Thule. "Your son hired her to make sure that the party degenerated into a baccanalia."

"My husband, actually," said Svetlana, "And they were part of why this party was the last straw. Ivan has done some really awful things for Randy in the past, but... This was too much. That was why I wanted her to be there when..."

"When we got caught?" asked Thule, "I figured that part out--that we were supposed to get caught, that you wanted to get thrown out. I don't know why you didn't just leave, though. Were you really a hostage in your own home?"

Svetlana nodded, "I tried to run away twice. Each time, Ivan brought me back. He was not going to let me go unless he threw me away. Because I tried to run, he kept me long after he was interested in me. It was to punish me for running."

Thule nodded, "So, you had to embarrass him."

"Da," said Svetlana, "Now, I have told you the question you are probably too much a gentleman to ask. You answer mine."

"I think," said Thule, "that I wanted you because Randy wanted you and couldn't have you. He took away someone very precious to me, once."

Svetlana laughed, "Randy does not want me. I throw myself at Randy, he wants every woman but me. I try to seduce him. He moves out of the house. I drink with him until I am too drunk to stand up, he gets me a blanket so I can sleep. I fall asleep in his bed, he sleeps on the couch."

"You know," said Thule, "I already consider your family plenty screwed up without that much detail."

"Not my family," said Svetlana, chuckling mirthlessly, "not anymore. Even if Randy did want me, he will not now."

"Before he handed me your purse," said Thule, "he slipped his money clip into it. There's at least two thousand dollars in it. He did it right under his father's nose."

"Ah," said Svetlana, a hint of melancholy is her voice, "my Randy. He is so sweet to his old mama."

Thule shifted uncomfortably, "Randy is going to come to a bad end. You would be better off without him."

"I think you are right," said Svetlana, "But, I am not so good at doing what is good for me, even when I know what it is."

Thule had no answer for that. He said, "I'll find you some pants." Svetlana nodded, got up, and went into the bathroom.

In the attic, Thule went first to the stack of boxes under which his strongbox lay. Digging it out, he took a single stack of hundred dollar bills, ten thousand dollars, out of the box before replacing it. His hands shook while he did it. It was more money than he'd ever had at one time before Ivan Vandevoort paid him to place the mole in Jonas's IT department. It was a little bit more than he had in the bank at the moment. He'd been slowly draining his savings to fund his crusade. Over time, he'd probably spent twice what he was holding now in surveillance equiptment, safes, safety deposit boxes, off-site storage, and bribes in pursuit of the Vandevoorts. Still, this money was supposed to be tuition.

Still, he had no intention of getting killed because he got schmaltzy at the last minute. Peeling off twenty bills, he stuck them in his wallet. The rest went in his pocket. The would go in the duffel bag the next chance he got.

The clothes took longer to find than he expected. By the time he wrestled the box downstairs, Svetlana was done with her shower and lying, asleep again, on his bed. She'd taken the time to make up the bed, but not to dress or dry her hair. Asleep, with her wet hair spread out in a nimbus around her head, she looked absurdly innocent.

He sat down next to her on the bed. Reaching out with just his fingertips, he gently stroked the flat of her stomach. Svetlana sighed in her sleep, undulating a little to rise to meet him. Knowing that he had wanted her for ignoble reasons didn't make Thule want her any less.

Realizing that her eyes were open, Thule stopped what he was doing, letting his hand rest on her belly, below her navel and above the line of her pubic hair.

"I brought you pants," he said quietly.

"Maybe you would like to keep doing what you were doing before I try them on, eh?" asked Svetlana.

"No," said Thule, taking his hand away, "That would be unwise."

Svetlana pouted at him as she sat up. As she tried on each pair of pants, it seemed to Thule like she was deliberately turning in such a way to maximize his view. Still, he found it impossible to look away until she had settled on a pair of blue jeans that could charitably be called, "distressed." They were a little big around the waist, a little tight on the hips and bottom, and about three or four inches too long in the legs.

After she had put on a belt and the rolled up the legs into big cuffs, Svetlana considered herself critically in the full-length mirror, "I look like farmer's wife, but it will do." She picked up Randy's shirt, a red flannel button-down that looked like it could have fit two of her inside of it, threw it on and, after a moment's consideration, tied the ends of it together between her breasts. Thule had to grudgingly admit that, considering how thick the shirt was and how warm it was out, it made sense.

"My shoes are going to look ridiculous with this," opined Svetlana, "What can we do about that?"

"I could knock the heels off, maybe," said Thule, "I don't think I have any footwear anywhere near your size."

Svetlana looked at him skeptically, "They are my favorite shoes."

-=-

One last time, Thule found himself carrying Mrs. Svetlana Vandevoort in his arms, this time for the short walk from his car into a shoe store in North Brunsfield. The first credit card Svetlana tried there worked. Right next door was a Victoria's Secret, where the same card did not. A second card also didn't work. Thule looked at them, taking one from Washington Mutual from the stack, "Try this." It worked.

"How did you know that one would work?" asked Svetlana as they headed out to the car.

"It looks like Ivan is working from a list of your credit cards," said Thule, "probably alphabetical by provider. We need to get you to an ATM as soon as possible." He took the cards out of her hand, shuffled out the ones that had been rejected, arranged the remaining ones in reverse alphabetical order, and handed them back, "Get every cash advance that you can. When you hit one that doesn't work anymore, stop. We'll try to get you some clothes on the last ones before he closes those."

Svetlana nodded and followed Thule back to the car, clutching the cards. Her hands shook a little. When they got to a bank of ATMs, she held out the pile to Thule, looking very vulnerable, "Could you help?"

"I don't know the codes," said Thule.

"They are all the same," said Svetlana, "Ivan's birthday, 0721."

Thule sighed as he dealt the stack out into two even piles, alternating cards for maximum coverage. Vil Umanski would not approve. But the sums were probably too small for Vil or Ivan to worry about. Still, Thule wondered how many other things of Ivan's had such easy passwords to crack.

When he finally hit a card he couldn't use, Thule had an impressive pile of twenties in his hands. Svetlana had a much smaller pile and a blank look on her face. Thule said, "Sveta, come here, please."

She looked over at Thule as if from a long way away, "Why?"

"Because," said Thule, "if your husband wants to make trouble with me for emptying out his credit cards, I want you to be clearly visible on the security tape, so that I can establish that you were with me."

Svetlana came over. Thule looked at the pile of bills in her hands, "How did you do?" he asked.

"Twenty-five hundred," said Svetlana.

Thule laid his thick stack on top of her money, "There's another eight thousand," he said.

Svetlana's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning, "Oh, Dule," she said. Reaching her hands, still full of money, up around the back of his head, she kissed him. At first, the kiss was pure gratitude and relief, but Thule noticed as it went on that she was staring up at the camera.

Figuring that he might as well be shot for a wolf as for a lamb, Thule slid his hands down, cupping Svetlana's bottom, lifting her up onto the small shelf in front of the ATM screen so that her head blocked most of the camera's view.

Svetlana's eyes were like saucers, "Dule," she said. Thule smiled. He could see that he'd finally managed to shock her, if only for a second.

"Put the money away," he commanded.

Svetlana nodded, her hands coming down from the back of his head, jamming the bills into the tiny purse, having to shift things around to get it all in before she could cram it shut. Once she'd done that, she reached down with both hands and undid Thule's fly.

"No," growled Thule, not pulling away, "We need to get you some clothes before he cancels the rest of the cards. You have an hour, tops."

But, Svetlana was already out of the pants Thule had leant her, wrapping her legs around his hips. Thule entered her almost without volition.

"Be quick," Svetlana grunted, raising and lowering her hips as she slid up and down Thule's cock.

Thule, who had really only meant to give the impression of impropriety, to create lingering doubt in Ivan's mind, rapidly changed his plan. He drove into Svetlana hard, a desire for speed and a fear of more immediate discovery lending him haste. Svetlana cried out so loudly that he slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.

As it was, it seemed to take forever before he came. As he let out his groan of pleasure, Svetlana bit his hand, causing him to pull it away. Then, she gave a loud cry of triumph that echoed across the still blissfully empty town square.

A few seconds later, she squirmed off of him, onto the ground, retrieving the pants, but not putting them on, "Come on, Dule," she said a little impatiently as she ran back towards the car, "We are running out of time."

In the car, she pulled on a new pair of underwear, stripped off Randy's shirt, and put on a new bra. Despite how much he'd seen of her, Thule still found himself glancing over to watch her as she undressed and dressed.

Only when a car headed the other way had to swerve to get back on the road after passing them did Thule say, "Put something on over that. You're going to cause an accident."

Svetlana thought about it and nodded, "Da," she said, "that might slow us down."

Once at the mall, Svetlana strolled off to the ladies' room to clean up, Thule following behind. When she came out, she surprised him by leading him to one of the big anchor stores, not one of the more swank little clothing boutiques that catered to the upscale clientele.

As if she could sense the question on his mind, Svetlana said, "If I am going to start over, I can't look like Mrs. Ivan Vandevoort. I must just be what I once intended to be--Svetlana, university student."

Thule nodded, acknowledging the wisdom of that statement. Following her through the maze of clothing displays, he asked, "Have you figured out what you are going to do next?"

Svetlana shrugged, "Go to New York. Find a place to stay or someone to stay with." She stopped at a display of women's blue jeans, spinning it like a seasoned professional shopper. Pulling a pair of jeans off of the rack, she took Thule by one arm, positioning him between herself and the main part of the store, "Stand here." Thule stood where he was put.

"Then," she said, unbuttoning the pants Thule had lent her and shimmying out of them, "I will finalize my divorce from Ivan, get my money," She slid the new jeans on, "Fifteen million dollars is not such bad pay for what I did. Buttoning up the pants, she asked, "How do I look?"

"Fine, fine," said Thule. "You do know there are dressing rooms here, don't you?"

"No time," said Svetlana, shucking the pants, "you said so yourself. Before Ivan found me in Moscva, I was going to be university student. Now that Ivan is done with me, maybe I will be university student here in America." She started handing Thule every pair of jeans that matched the numbers of the ones she'd just tried on. Then, pulling back on the pants that Thule had lent her, she was off again. Thule managed to snag a shopping cart as he followed her march through the store. Again, when she got to shirts, she pulled off the oversized shirt Randy had given her, oblivious to the stares of the few early-morning shoppers who noticed the girl talking a mile a minute while standing among the racks wearing nothing but a lacy, green bra above the waist. Once she tried on a shirt she was happy with the size of, she used it as a template for other shirts, blouses, sweaters, and tops she wanted to buy. Soon, she had an impressive collection of clothing and accessories. By Thule's watch, they got to the checkout counter with ten minutes to spare. As he watched the cashier ring up the purchases, Thule started to sweat the seconds as they ticked by. Both he and Svetlana stood, holding their breath, while the machine verified her credit card. Finally, it spit out a receipt for Svetlana to sign. It took both Svetlana and Thule carrying their maximum capacity to get the bags out to the car.

"Luggage," said Svetlana, "I can not carry all of this without luggage. So, back into the mall they went, selecting a set of matching luggage for Svetlana. When she tried to pay with the same credit card, it was declined. She tried the next card up the line, also declined. She shrugged and counted out the amount in cash.

Out at the car, Thule helped her fit everything she'd bought into the luggage. As Thule drove off, she stripped again, discarding the borrowed clothing, pulling on a winter camouflage t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and Thule's old belt.

"How do I look?" she asked Thule.

"Good," said Thule, "and like you're on your way to a day of skateboarding."

Svetlana looked in the mirror, digging through all of the cash in her bag to bring out and reapply the brick-red lipstick she kept in there. Smacking her lips, she said, "Cool."

"So," asked Thule, "where to?"

Svetlana's smile grew sadder, "I should really get going. The sooner I do, the sooner I can disappear so that Ivan can not change his mind. Take me to bus station, please."

Thule nodded, "There's a stop on the way to New York right here in the mall parking lot if you want to get the bus there."

"Oh," said Svetlana, the smile completely gone from her face now.

Thule maneuvered into the lane that led to the back parking lot, "Sveta," he said quietly, "once you get settled in, give me a call."

That brought the sad smile back, "Thank you, Dule. But, I know you want to be rid of me before I get you killed."

"Well, yes," admitted Thule, "but, I would like to be able to get a hold of you."

"Why?" asked Svetlana.

Thule considered for a long moment, then said, "It's clear you want to hurt Ivan. I may have an opportunity for you to hurt him far more than you ever dreamed possible."

Svetlana's eyes flashed. Her smile was feral now and made Thule shiver. He was glad he wouldn't be around long enough to ever get on her bad side.

"I would like that very much," she said.

Thule nodded as he pulled up close enough to the bus shelter to read the schedule, "The next bus is in forty-seven minutes. We have a little time..." Even before he finished the sentence, Thule wondered what the hell he was thinking giving Sveta an opportunity like that.

So, her answer surprised him, "Actually," she said, "I am starving. I saw a diner in this lot somewhere."

Thule knew the place. He turned the car around. For the next half hour, they sat and ate breakfast, talking casually, laughing. Svetlana managed to fake Thule out long enough to steal a couple of his french fries. For all the world, they looked like a couple of college kids out on a date, so much so that the help was surly with them and tried to take their plates away before they were entirely done.

After that, Thule drove Svetlana back to the bus shelter, helped her get the three new suitcases out of the trunk, and waited with her. Svetlana leaned back into his arms as if cold and seeking warmth. When the bus arrived, Thule loaded the luggage into the bottom compartment. When he looked up, he realized that Svetlana's eyes were wet with tears. She smiled shyly at him, "You will not forget me, Dule?"

Thule snorted, "Fat chance of that."

Standing on tip toe, Svetlana reached up behind Thule's head, drawing him down into a kiss. It was not passionate, but grateful. And, because no one was watching, it stayed that way.

-=-

Thule drove around for a while after that, taking the long way back to Mannsborough, then circling around the town while he thought. It was just past ten thirty when he finally decided where he was going.

He felt like everyone was staring at him when he sat down. He knew that Jonas, Marigold, and Dawn certainly were. Marigold and Dawn were dressed in nearly identical sundresses that must have belonged to Marigold, although Thule didn't remember ever having seen either of them before. Jonas was dressed in a dark gray business suit. Thule himself was dressed in black slacks and a navy blue button-down shirt. So, he didn't look out of place.

As the congregation sat down, Thule lowered his head and closed his eyes, one fist in front of his mouth. When the reverend let them in prayer, he did not follow along, but mouthed words of his own.

Neither Jonas nor Marigold nor Dawn spoke until the service was over, except to follow the service. Thule did not rise or sit with the service and, for a long time, just sat down, eyes closed, fist clenched. To the last part of the service, he just sat and listened.

Jonas, Marigold, and Dawn formed up around Thule as he got up to head down the aisle. When he got to the reverend, who was greeting congregation members as they passed, the man said, "Bartholomew, it's so good to see you here. Can we expect to see you next week as well?"

Thule looked up at Jonas, who seemed intent on the answer, and said, "No, sir. I don't believe so. I haven't come to believe in this church or the religion it represents."

The reverend gave a frustrated sigh, "You should really..."

Jonas laid a hand on the reverend's wrist, keeping him from touching Thule. He shook his head "no," just once. The reverend dropped his arm and let them pass. Jonas, Marigold, and Dawn followed Thule out into the parking lot where he finally turned to face them.

"So," asked Jonas, "why did you come today?"

"I don't know," admitted Thule, "It's just..."

They waited. No one interrupted the long pause.

"It's just," Thule went on, "that, every once in a while, I really fear for my immortal soul. Not in a hellfire and damnation sort of way, but more about losing it in the here and now and what that would mean. I can't think of any secular way to pray about that, so I came here."