Page 38 of Wreaking Havoc
By the end of the day, when Kai woken him yet again to sip at some water, he glowered feebly at him. “Just turn the TV on and leave me to die,” he moaned, closing his eyes resolutely.
Leave him todie? Kai would not. Hecouldnot.
He needed someone with knowledge of humans, knowledge of Sascha. He had said he’d gotten ill as a child. Clearly the illness had never taken him, if he was still here.
Kai searched and found Sascha’s little pocket phone. He held it up to Sascha’s sleeping face as he’d seen Sascha do to unlock it for use. He searched through it, cursing his overlarge fingers, but eventually found what he was looking for.
He pressed the contact and held his breath through the phone’s little song, relieved when a deep voice answered.
Kai wasted no time. “Your brother is dying,” he told them. “Come for him.”
11
Sascha
Sascha’s tummy hurt.
Throwing up was awful, but he was probably going to anyway. And it would be extra awful because his throat didn’t feel too good either. He probably needed medicine, something to make it not hurt so much.
But it was the middle of the night. The nanny had already gone home. And Sascha wasn’t supposed to interrupt Papa, even after dark.
Especiallyafter dark.
That was the agreement. That was why he’d been allowed home from boarding school over the summer. The conditions, Papa had said. So if he wanted to stay—to see Alexei and Ivan for more than just the Christmas holiday—he had to stay in bed.
He could do it. Hecould. He was six now, almost seven. He’d be going into second grade next year. He wasn’t a baby.
But it really hurt. And the water cup by his bed was empty.
Sascha frowned at the empty cup. The stupid nanny had forgotten to fill it. Oh well, she’d be gone soon. Papa had seenher carrying him up the stairs earlier. Babying him. So bye-bye, nanny.
Sascha tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace as his tummy cramped again. He tossed his covers back and climbed gingerly out of bed.
Maybe he’d just check. Papa might be at the warehouse, anyway, and then Sascha could sneak into Ivan’s room and ask if he knew where the medicine was.
He crept into the hallway. It was dark, but there were lights on downstairs. He went down the stairs, shivering as he went. Did he have a fever again? It felt like he did.
There was no one in the living room. No one in the kitchen either. There was light coming out from under the basement door though. Papa must have been down there.
Sascha wasn’t supposed to go in the basement.
But he could hear voices down there, and one of them sounded like Ivan. If Ivan was down there, it couldn’t be too bad, right?
Sascha opened the door as quietly as he could. He’d just take a peek. If it looked okay, he’d ask Papa for some medicine. Maybe he’d get the pink stuff that tasted like bubblegum.
He crept down the stairs. There was Papa’s voice. And Sergei’s. And one Sascha didn’t recognize. A man’s voice. He was kind of loud. And whiney.
Maybe his tummy hurt too.
Sascha made it to the bottom, the basement room now in view, and he suddenly couldn’t be quiet anymore. He gasped.
There was Papa and Sergei and Ivan. Ivan was looking so grown up, standing next to Papa, his hands clasped behind his back.
And sitting in front of them—his back to Sascha—was a man. He was tied to a chair with rope, and he was…red. All over. Was that blood? Why would he be so bloody? It wasdripping down the floor, onto a plastic sheet someone had laid down there.
Sascha swallowed hard, his tummy churning.
“Sascha.”
