Page 12 of Forever My Saint

Nothing but respect passes between us as I affirm, “I will.” With those parting words, I open the door, and following the advice Saint once gave me, I don’t look back.

Each step takes me closer to the unknown, but I don’t feel scared. For the first time in a long time, I feel like my fate lies in my own hands. I know how ridiculous that sounds, considering my circumstances, but this decision was mine to make alone. And that’s something I haven’t been able to do in a very long time.

With that as my mindset, I hold my head high with no expectations and don’t look back as I walk toward Oscar’s house. A car drives off in the distance, alerting me that Pavel and Zoey have left. When the tall steel double gate comes into view, I push aside the memories of when I was here last and only focus on the now.

I measure my breathing, going over the rehearsed story in my head one last time. I know it like the back of my hand, but I’m worried I’ll mess it up somehow now that I’m here. But that isn’t an option. I can’t fail.

Tipping my face to the heavens, I inhale deeply and gaze into the gray skies one last time because I don’t know when I’ll see it next. So much is about to change yet again. My life is a constant merry-go-round, and I wonder when it’ll slow down.

Gathering my thoughts, I take a deep breath, then put on my game face. I ignore the tremble to my finger as I push the button on the intercom. Even though no one answers, the flashing red dot on the camera above me indicates someone knows I’m here.

After a few seconds, static crackles before someone speaks to me in Russian. He could be saying go away for all I know, but I don’t let that deter me.

“Hi, I’m here to see Oscar.” I can only hope he understands me.

He does.

“Oscar isn’t here.”

Before he has a chance to tell me to beat it, I quickly press the button. “Just in case he is…tell him Will—” I quickly backtrack. “Tell him…????? is here.” I raise my chin firmly, staring into the camera so he can see me.

The blinking light is hypnotic as I focus on it and pray that this works.

My heart begins to race as one minute turns to two. If this doesn’t work, then I will scale these high walls. Even though I won’t get far, I sure as shit will get their attention. Just when I think the plan has fizzled even before it had a chance to flourish, the gate slowly whines open.

A small jubilant bubble explodes inside me, but I rein in my emotions.

I don’t wait for further instruction and slip in the moment the gap is wide enough. I measure my pace as I don’t want to seem too eager. Pavel told me I need to remain calm and collected because Oscar needs to think I have the upper hand for our plan to work.

The gardens are dull, a harsh contrast to the flourishing vegetation I saw when here last. I suppose even the flowers have gone into hiding, not wanting to witness the shitstorm about to unfold. The house reeks of wealth, but it’s cold and unloved. It appears to be more a museum than a home.

The moment I am within a few feet of the front door, it opens and out marches three armed men. I’ve never seen them before, but my guess is that they are the muscle. They yell at me in Russian, and when I stand dumbfounded, they yank my backpack off my shoulders roughly.

Tossing it to the ground, they rifle through it without care. There isn’t much in there, but when they pull out a pack of gum, I hold my breath. They look at it closely, passing it around, while I do what Pavel told me—stay calm.

That’s a little hard because what they hold isn’t just a pack of gum. Inside is what will save Saint. Hidden inside a stick of gum—the first and third in the pack, to be precise—are five tiny bugs. I don’t know how Pavel acquired these, but he said they would work.

However, when one of the meatheads hunts through the packet and retrieves a stick, I worry the only thing Pavel will be listening to is the goings-on of his digestive system.

I try to think on my feet, but stopping them will rouse suspicion. So I simply watch on without any emotion.

The three men each help themselves to the gum. They examine me as they remove the wrappers and pop the green gum into their mouths. There is no way for me to tell if they’ve eaten the bugs or not.

After a few noisy seconds of chewing, they nod, then toss the gum back into my backpack. Just when I’m about to sigh a breath of relief, one of them gestures for me to turn around. Without hesitation, I do as he requests.

He commences frisking me, straying a little too close for comfort. But I never waver, even when he lifts my jacket to examine the small of my back and runs his hand over my ass. I just envision breaking every one of his fingers. When he’s satisfied I’m not packing, he then turns me by the shoulders and frisks my front.

He fondles my breasts, acting if this behavior is all part of his “job.” He watches for any signs of fear. In response, I roll my eyes at his clumsy groping. Once he’s ensured nothing is strapped to my legs and ankles, he stands and grunts.

“Come,” one of the goons says, gripping my bicep and dragging me up the stairs. Once I step foot inside, I am hit with a wave of nostalgia. But it’s not of the good kind.

I shrug from his grip, not interested in playing nice. “Where is Oscar?”

The man who frisked me tosses my backpack at my feet while the one who manhandled me is far from impressed with my demands. “Wait here.”

That suits me just fine.

Two of them disappear, leaving me alone with my groper. He leans against the wall, chewing his gum loudly. While he makes no secret of his ogling, I am also forthright in my response that being near him repulses me. I shift to the left, folding my arms over my chest.

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