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The pictures in the camera were all of Mr. Cowling at various stages of the evening leading up to their meeting. He could infer that she had followed them to the room, and had returned after they had left. She had not known that Sergei, who had been practicing the martial arts for decades, and was still strong in his old age, would be in the room. Viktor took the camera and the phone with him, and headed straight for his chambers.
Gloria’s mind resurfaced, albeit with reluctance, in the early hours of the morning. Her mind felt groggy, heavy; a horse unwilling to do any work that day, and her awareness came in slow stages, each level adding to her growing alarm. By the time she became aware of the velvet sheets upon which she lay, she tried to scream, but her voice sounded like it belonged to somebody else; she could only muster a croak. She tried to remember what had happened, and when she did, she willed herself upright, though she would rather have slept for another week or two, cold shivers raced up and down her spine, and her breath came in short panicky spurts as she realized that she had most likely been kidnapped. The room was pitch dark, having no windows, but she could see a sliver of light coming in through the door from outside.
She rushed to the door, hoping against hope to force it open, only to be perplexed to find it swing smoothly and silently open upon the first try. She did not know whether to attribute thanks to lady luck or the sheer incompetence of the kidnappers, but she did not wait to decide. She dashed forth immediately, only to come back with equal haste searching for her overcoat. She dashed towards the chair on which she saw it and cursed under her breath when she realized that her phone and high-definition camera were nowhere to be found. Groping frantically about the bed yielded no results, and she felt a bit sheepish expecting otherwise; if anybody were that lucky, she thought, they would not be kidnapped in the first place!
The glow from the lights located just above her head at several points across the wall, although mellow, felt harsh upon her eyes, and she tried to keep her head down. She also realized that she had been tip-toeing for the last few yards. She took a deep breath to calm herself down, ignoring the faint pounding within her skull which she put down to the after effects or the ether. She moved slowly now, on the soles of her feet. She passed a series of rooms, and deduced that she was in a section of the house that was dedicated to bedrooms. Her number one priority now was to reach a phone, which she guessed should lie in the living room, if at all in the house. She soon came upon the end of the hallway, and negotiated a bend that descended into a short staircase which she was sure should lead to a living room or place of gathering of some sort, and hopefully a phone.
The lights here were not turned on, but there was a window, through which a silver plate of light fell upon half of the room, giving it a soft, almost ethereal texture. The light also rested upon a portrait, positioned over a fire place, depicting a family. Despite the urgency of her mission, Gloria stopped to stare at the group of four portrayed on canvass just out of her reach-especially at the woman, whose hair seemed to shimmer in the ghostly light.
“My mother, the Countess Valgloria”
Gloria almost jumped out of her skin with fright, spinning round to where she had heard the voice come from to see Viktor emerge from the dark part of the room, the part which was not touched by the moonlight. He was clad only in black track suit trousers, and it took a second for Gloria to make out his face.
“Get away from me!” she said, looking left and right for a suitable weapon.
“You don’t have to worry” Viktor cajoled in his strange accent less voice “I am not going to hurt you.”
The art of moving backwards was too much for Gloria’s muddled brain and she stumbled backwards unto a cushion seat, knocking that over as well, but Viktor was by her side in a flash, and caught her before she could fall to the floor. Despite herself, she was again aware of the puzzling mix of tenderness and firmness that lingered with his touch. She was dazed, and for a full three seconds, she lay in this comforting mix which his touch promised and in spite of herself, she drew some comfort from his warmth.
Regaining her poise she struggled against him, pushing him away. “Get away from me!” she screamed scrambling to her feet as he let her go. “What am I doing here? Why did you kidnap me?! I swear to God if you come one step near me, I’ll scream so loud your ancestors will hear in Russia!”
