Escaping Soviet Hell Pt. 3

Raivis was drowning. He thrashed and kicked, but his limbs were pinned to his sides, save for one hand which reached above the water, an invisible cry for help.
   
He woke up, panting. There was no water; he was not drowning. However, he was entangled in three layers of blankets and one very strong pair of arms.
   
Raivis glanced over his shoulder. He lay in the arms of a man who, in his eyes, could only be described as a monster. His sleeping face made him look harmless—sweet even—but Raivis knew the truth. Ivan was cruel.
   
As if he was eavesdropping on the Latvian’s thoughts, Ivan’s violet eyes flickered open. The Russian smiled.
   
“Good morning, Raivis,” he said in his low voice.
   
“G-good morning, sir,” Raivis answered. He tried to wriggle out of Ivan’s grasp, but he realised with shock that his left hand had been chained to the bedpost.
   
“Did you sleep well?” Ivan beamed, apparently oblivious to Raivis’s terror.
   
“I-I guess?”
   
“Ah, good.” Ivan’s smile grew, if that were possible. “You see, I was worried you would be cold, so I had you in bed with me. You are so thin, I thought my body heat would help.”
   
“Oh.” Raivis paused for a moment. Perhaps Ivan really had been trying to help him—his bedroom was always freezing. He shook his head. “S-so why am I chained to the bed?”
   
“Oh, that.” Ivan’s face darkened suddenly. “With Toris and Eduard gone, you are the only one I have left. I cannot let you get away. That would leave me all alone, and I will not allow that.”
   
Raivis jiggled the chain. The handcuff was cutting into the soft skin of his wrist, and the metal was old and rusty. He didn’t even want to think about why Ivan kept handcuffs in his house.
   
“Since I cannot trust you to stay with me, little Raivis,” Ivan said from behind him, “I am afraid I will have to keep you by my side at all times.”

~~~~~~~~~~                    

Ivan was a man of his word. Raivis spent the day under the Russian’s constant gaze, never more than a few metres away from him. He wasn’t always being dragged around by the chain—he and Ivan had spent at least two hours locked in the latter’s office (with the key safely in Ivan’s pocket, of course). That hadn’t been so bad—the study was cosy, with its roaring hearth and deep carpets. Ivan had let the boy read some of the dusty poetry books he kept stacked on untouched shelves, and had even agreed to play a few games of chess to pass the time.
   
Even so, Raivis wanted to go home.
   
Ivan’s paranoia was starting to wear him out. The large Russian was forever glancing outside for signs of a rescue party for Raivis. He would get up every few minutes, cross the room and check the corridor, presumably for his crazy sister. A few times, he even peered into the empty cabinet by his desk, although Raivis could not fathom what might be hiding in there.
   
Raivis remembered when he was growing up, how everyone was terrified of the huge, cold loner in the East. Yet here he was, checking his cupboards for monsters. It was sad, really.
   
Raivis glanced up from the book he was reading. Ivan was preoccupied with the snow outside, apparently in deep thought.
   
I wonder, the Latvian mused. How long would it take for him to miss me?
 
~~~~~~~~~~    
Eduard shielded his eyes against the bright lights of Tallinn’s Old Town. It was dark, but the lights from the houses splashed golden puddles on the cobbles. He smiled at the familiarity of home; the narrow streets, the tightly-packed houses with red roofs and the castle in the distance. It was good to be back.
   
He staggered to his front door, feet aching for miles and miles of walking. The door opened easily, like it was welcoming him home. He flicked on the lights and leaned against the wall.
   
What have I done?
   
He pictured little Raivis, cowering alone in Ivan’s shadow. What was the bastard doing to him right now? Eduard’s runaway imagination made him want to retch.
   
His eyes fell on the dusty telephone on the wall. He picked up the receiver and dialled the number he knew so well.
   
Please pick up please pick up please pick up—
   
“Hello?” The familiar voice—sounding so much stronger now—made Eduard breathe a sigh of relief. His brother was OK.
   
“Toris! It’s me, I’m safe!”
   
“Eduard?” Toris’s shock and relief were obvious, eve over the phone. “Are you alright? Where’s Raivis, is he with you?”
   
“Ah. Well, you see, that’s my problem.” Eduard pushed his glasses up his nose.
   
There was a pause. “You left him.”
   
Eduard flinched at the accusation. “I didn’t mean to!” He cried defensively. “We tried to escape together, but Ivan—he—I—“
   
“Eduard, calm down. Right now, Raivis is alone with Ivan. Lord knows what kind of trouble he’s in.”
   
“I know, but—“
   
“Are you at home?”
   
“Yes.”
   
“I’m on my way. Be ready to leave when I show up.”
   
Eduard caught on quickly. “We can’t rescue Raivis on our own! Ivan—“
   
“Look, Raivis may not be our blood brother, but it sure as hell feels like it. And we are going to get our brother out of there.”
   
“But what if we’re too late?” The Estonian’s voice was very small.
   
“We won’t be,” Toris said firmly. “Raivis is a smart kid. He’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~
   
“Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!
   V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!”
   
Raivis sat at the kitchen table, hands folded. The chain lay on the sideboard, but the kitchen door was locked. He could see the outline of the key in Ivan’s pocket.
   
The Russian bustled around the messy kitchen as if it were a completely normal day. The heady smell of cooking pirozhki stifled the air and steamed up the windows. Although Raivis had never really liked Russian food, the scent made his mouth water. He was starving, and it was no secret that Ivan was a fantastic cook.
   
“You know, Raivis,” Ivan began, half turning towards him, “did I tell you that having you here makes me very happy?”
   
“Uh, no,” said Raivis. “I don’t think you did.”
   
“Well da, it does.” Ivan’s eyes closed as he smiled. He walked over to the Latvian and ruffled his curly brown hair, before returning to the stove. He was still singing at top note, and Raivis had to admit that the man had a lovely bass voice.
   
Still, he would much rather be at home, listening to Latvian folk songs.
   
He glanced over to the cupboard behind him. He knew only too well what it contained. That was Ivan’s personal storage cupboard, and Raivis had been cleaning it once a week for more years than he cared to remember.
   
On the top shelf were four rows of vodka bottles. They were all plain except for a vanilla one at the back, and were arranged in order of age. The second shelf contained three of Ivan’s best military overcoats, spotless and crisply ironed by Toris. On top of them lay an old, stiff leather whip, coiled up like a snake. Raivis had never seen Ivan use it.
   
Then, there was the bottom shelf. The one where Ivan kept the lead pipe. Now that was frequently used. No matter how hard Raivis scrubbed, the bloodstains always stayed.
   
Raivis turned his gaze back to his Russian boss. Ivan had stopped cooking, and was standing completely still. He appeared to be staring at the falling snow outside, but the Latvian could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere.
   
He’s been doing that a lot lately, the boy thought, just stopping and staring into space.
   
This was it.
   
He stood up slowly, making sure his chair didn’t scrape against the ceramic-tiled floor. He managed to tiptoe to the cupboard and open it with just a small creak, which Ivan was too wrapped up in himself to notice. From there, it was only too easy to grab the cold metal pipe and creep up behind Ivan.
   
Raivis tightened his clammy grip on the pipe, doing his best to avoid touching the crusted bloodstains. He didn’t dare think about who they might belong to.
   
He raised the pipe above his head. It wasn’t too late to turn back. He could put the pipe away now and Ivan would never know.
   
No, he scolded himself. This is what I have to do. I have wanted this for a long time.
   
He swung the pipe at Ivan’s head.
   
There was a crack.
   
Blood splattered on his clean shirt.
   
Ivan came crashing to the floor.
   
Raivis stepped away, panting. Ivan twitched slightly, then he opened his eyes. A tear slipped out of one.
   
Then came the noise that haunted Raivis’s nightmares. The boy began to tremble.
   
Kolkolkolkol...
   
With a piercing scream, Raivis swung the pipe again—
   
And again—
     
And again—

There was more blood, so much blood. This time, Ivan did not wake up.

~~~~~~~~~  

Raivis had never noticed how painful the cold was. It tore at his dry skin and the wind ripped at his hair. His tears nearly froze to his face.
   
I killed him. He’s dead, I’m sure of it.
   
Raivis sniffed. How many people had been killed with that same pipe? He supposed that, when it came down to it, he was no better than Ivan.
   
He hugged himself and shuddered, cursing himself for forgetting to pick up a coat.
   
Raivis kept his eyes fixed on the snowy road, seeing the headlights of a car falling in front of him. He thought about hiding by the roadside, but he really couldn’t be bothered.
   
The car pulled up next to him.
   
Now he was worried. Raivis kept on walking, keeping his head turned away from the car.
   
“Raivis. It’s us.”
   
He knew that voice, though it seemed like he hadn’t heard it in a long time.
   
“Toris!” he cried, shielding his eyes against the bright lights of Toris’s 4x4. He ran up to it and peered inside. Toris rolled the window down fully and leaned out, Eduard looking out from the passenger’s seat.
   
“Raivis, I’m so sorry,” Eduard began, but Toris held a finger up to silence him.
   
“Save it for later, Eduard,” he said. “Let’s get Raivis home.”