Page 46 of Volatile Waters

I glanced back to the Summers’ home, remembering the day I was in Mr. Summers office, watching Tim play with a younger Whitney and a boy named Reether. Then I remembered after we left, how we eavesdropped, overhearing Mr. Summers saying to someone on the phone, “He’s fine. In the water with Tim and Whit.” I was starting to suspect that whoever Mr. Summers was speaking to lived across the lake and was possibly the same person who Harold was on the phone with when I was spying on him at Harold’slake home; “Your son has nothing to do with this… Well, they don’t know that!”

Watching, who I was suspecting to be Reether, walk up the dock, his body mannerism again triggered a recognition I couldn’t yet place. I whispered, “Does he look familiar to either of you?”

They both shook their heads no.

After grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist, the kid snuck through the back door, baffling me further. I was about to go investigate when I suddenly heard music coming from within the Summers’ home. When I saw fluid movements in the rear living quarters, it was like luring the devil to an angel as I crossed the space between us, not caring who saw me.

Adrian rushed to follow me, shoving me behind a tall potted plant so I could still watch Whitney, eyes closed, become one with the music. At first, muscular legs worked with such precision that even a non-dancer such as myself had to appreciate the craft. One limb would extend impossibly high into the air while the other stayed grounded as if giving permission—stability—freedom to soar. I had never seen balance in such rare form.

In Russia, we have the best of the best. Our ballet dancers were once known to be untouchable. Miss Whitney was attending a high school that offered a dance program, but she was not only dancing; she was screaming of pain in her soul. She was petite, not as ravishing as Mrs. Thompson, but her body moved like a beautiful song of agony and the fight for survival. Her evident internal ache spoke volumes. And it fucking spoke to me.

I envied her ability to have such an outlet, like I had with sex, but also saw her release not being enough. She was as hungry as I. An instant connection was made from one hungry entity to another. The kindred spirit I had once felt toward Whitney, after speaking with her father years ago, was now blooming into unknown soulmates of sorts.

And then… her eyes opened. It may have only been for a second, but it was enough time for me to find the eyes I had been, unknowingly until that moment, trying to replicate in other redheaded slaves. Seafoam. I gasped and jerked back at the magnificent sight, bumping into Adrian. He quickly leaned forward to see what I was captivated by but was snared by Whitney.

Wild red hair flowed, following every turn and gracious bow of her body. Fingers fisted and stretched, full of emotions begging to be unconstrained. Her eyes were closed, again as if she was lost in the sentiment of her inner battle.

I don’t know how long I stood there before Adrian was pulling me away and into the woods once again, trying to warn me, “He’s coming back,” but my stare was locked to the back patio window, watching the rawness of her every move. “You are staring at her like a starving man seeing his first glimpse of a steak.”

Adrian couldn’t have been more correct.

Soaking wet on the back patio, the young man was now watching her, too, as her hands slammed against her chest. He was as enthralled as I had been and jolted when she finally stopped dancing and dropped to the floor. She laid there for a moment then screamed her frustration instead. “Whyyyy?” I grabbed my chest. I had heard a bloodcurdling plea before, the night little Harry rushed to Tim’s dying side. With her recently meeting Crash, I knew—just knew—this scream had to do with him and her brother.Therefore, it had something to do with me. It caused me a twisted physical discomfort, mixed with pleasure, to know I was personally responsible for that beautiful dancing.

I instantly wanted to inspire more.

Is this desire where Seafoam’s curse truly began? Was this the beginning of my family’s fall? Or, were all souls linked by the crime of sexual slavery destined for a much bigger picture? The answer would soon be a marvel and would reach far beyond what I could see or comprehend at the time. Maybe it is true; if you look hard enough, there is always beauty present within the ugly. That beauty may not be within your grasp but may benefit others also in dire need. Either way, what was to come would prove an undoubting connection between myself, those I knew, and those to come.

A prime example was about to present itself.

Adrian, Kirill, and I made our way around the lake, staying hidden, as the young man finally swam back across the lake. My head tilted as I observed security cameras everywhere on the white home. The head of this household was on the border of being highly paranoid, so we didn’t dare break from the trees. We stayed shielded and studied the young man jogging around the side of the house when he heard the garage door opening. “Mom?”

As a woman came out, stretching. Her attire and pulled-back hair informed me she was about to run for exercise. “Reether, I’m here, baby.”

Meeting her in the driveway, Reether said, “I’m gonna hang with Whit today.”

She beamed up at her son with such pride. “And why would I expect anything different?”

He kissed her cheek, “Love you,” then jogged into the garage.

As she watched him with an abundance of adoration, I quickly recognized the large brown eyes hiding under long bangs. The eyes were older, but unforgettable, just as she would always be to me.

Well, I’ll be damned.

This woman was my very first pet.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Back at the hotel, walking through the front door and into the lobby, I snarled at Kirill. “Why the fuck is there a stripper waiting for you?”

There was the little blonde who stood no taller than 4’11”, shyly smiling and waving at him.

“Little Yury, don’t you prefer I fuck her rather than find my usual?”

I was too tired to even respond, but yes, the willing stripper was a much better alternative to him raping a child.

After the elevator ride to my floor, walking down the hall toward my room, my mind spun with Marina being Reether’s mother and how all the scenarios would play out. Loose ends were multiplying every day. Was it time to reach out to my father and inform him of another revelation? That I never even told him she was alive? I didn’t have the moment needed to come up with an answer, because Mrs. Thompson was pacing outside my door.

I was about to turn to head back to the elevator, but she noticed me before I had the chance. “Is she going to get him killed?”