Chapter Three
Soroya

The drive from Kazan to St. Petersburg is long, but I don't mind it. It's better than flying, which would require getting a fake passport and ID and I don't have the time or patience to retrieve those right now.

And driving gives me time to myself. It gives me time to turn on the radio, listen to 40's and 50's music, and drown out the rest of the world.

Right now Skeeter Davis's song 'The End of the World' is playing on the radio, and I have the window pulled down, allowing a cool breeze to blow into my stolen car. It's nice. Almost peaceful. I never get to listen to music anymore, and whenever I have the chance, I savor every moment of it, just like I savor it when I sing to Caden. Listening to these songs brings me closer to my parents, it allows me to feel, for a brief moment, that they'r here with me, and not god knows how far away. As I listen, I can almost hear Mama's voice singing along, see Papa's smile and look of pure bliss at hearing her voice. I can hear Alex groan and beg us to change the channel because he hates this kind of music.

It feels so real...but it isn't. My family isn't here. They're gone, missing, out of reach.

The next song to come on the radio is Sheb Wooley's 'The Purple People Eater', and my pain and longing is once again briefly put at ease. I remember this song fondly from my childhood, it was favorite of mine. There were a couple months when I was five or six years old that I would demand my parents sing this song to me every night before sleep, after Mama sang me 'Moon River' of course. I can almost hear their voices singing along, and I can't help but sing along as well.

"It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater, a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater, sure looks strange to me. Well he came down to earth and he laid in the tree, I said 'Mr. Purple People Eater, don't eat me'. I heard him say in a voice so gruff 'I wouldn't eat you 'cause you're so tough'. It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater. A one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater, sure looks strange to me."

Mama used to mimick the squeaky high voice of said 'purple people eater' when she sang the song to me, and the memory puts a smile on my lips as I continue singing.

"I said 'Mr. Purple People Eater, what's your line?'And he said, 'Eatin' purple people and it sure is fine, but that's not the reason that I came to land.
I wanna get a job in a rock and roll band'. Well bless my soul, rock and roll, flyin' purple people eater. Pigeon-toed, undergrowed, flyin' purple people eater, friendly little people eater, what a sight to see.
And then he swung from the tree and he laid on the ground, and he started to rock, really rockin' around, It was a crazy ditty with a swingin' tune; 'Sing a bop-bop aboopa-lopa, loom bam-boom'. Well bless my soul, rock and roll, flyin' purple people eater, Pigeon-toed, undergrowed, flyin' purple people eater. Quite a sight to see."

I feel my cheeks grow wet and I realize I've started to cry. My smile begins to dim, my voice cracking as I finish the final lines.

"Well he went on his way, and then what do ya know, I saw him last night on a TV show. He was blowing it out, really knockin' em dead, playin' rock and roll music through the horn in his head."

As the horn solo takes over, I choke out a sob, the ache in my chest so acute that it feels like I can't breathe, like the air around me has vanished entirely. I quickly turn the channel and it lands on a talk show station, and as I listen to the babble of the show's hosts, I try to calm down, but it's impossible. Nothing can calm me down or ease my pain because my family isn't here with me.

I don't think I'll ever see them again.

The thought haunts me to my very core, and continues to haunt me the rest of the way to St. Petersburg. I'm actually grateful when I reach The Anastasia, which is strange, but I'm so lost in my own grief and loneliness that I welcome any distraction. Even one such as this.

The Anastasia hotel is quite grand. It's built with tan stone, intricate designs carved around each window and balcony, the kind of designs that take the precise, steady hand of a talented sculptor. That also goes for the stone statues that hold up the archway over the front door. There are two statues in total, both of naked men straining their bodies to hold up the archway. In the statue's expressions I see pain, maybe even fear, like the weight of the stone they hold up is killing them and they know their end is near.

I would say that is an odd choice to have your statues show fear at the entrance of the building, but knowing that this hotel deals in human trafficking, I'm not shocked. People who deal in businesses like this live off of the fear they inspire in others. The owners probably laugh to themselves about how the very entrance to this building warns those who enter it that they are in danger.

Rage swells inside of me and I start towards the hotel, eager to find Kelly and rip his throat out with my teeth as well as anyone else who deals in the business of human beings.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind I stop walking. Do I actually want to rip all their throats out?

Yes I do.

I want to make Kelly and all the people who work here pay for the lives they've stolen, I want them all to suffer, I want to hurt them because I can't hurt the people who did to me what they're doing to others.

I want revenge.

And that's why I turn back towards my car and pull out some change. When I've found enough, I walk over to a payphone a couple feet away and dial the number of the police, trying to get myself worked up and emotional to suit my needs.

As soon as the line picks up, I let out a choked sob, then begin frantically whispering in Russian. "T-the Anastasia. The hotel. They-they have us locked up here at the hotel. They are going to sell me. Please don't let them sell me!"

"Police are on their way. For right now, I need you to remain calm. What's your name, honey?" The soothing voice says.

"They're coming! Please hurry!" I hang up the phone, wiping my cheeks of the tears I conjured, then walk back to my car to wait for the police's arrival.

This takes less than five minutes. I watch officers in tactical gear bust in through the front and back entrances, and it's not long before rich looking men are escorted out in handcuffs, followed by dozens of people wearing nothing but hospital gowns who look like they could simultaneously laugh, cry, and vomit. I feel myself smile as I watch these victims gain their freedom, but my smile quickly dies as envy courses through me. I hate myself for it, for being jealous of these people for gaining their freedom, but I can't help it. They get to return home to their families, they get to recapture the lives that were stolen from them. I wish I could do the same.

I wish it more than anything.

Taking in a deep breath, I pull out my burner phone and press on the only number in it's contacts. I'm not surprised when Pierce picks up on the second ring.

"Did you kill Kelly?"

"Bit of a complication."

"Complication?"

"Someone phoned the police and raided the hotel Kelly was operating at. By the time I arrived, he and everyone he had held were gone."

Pierce hums in annoyance, and after a beat of silence, says: "So someone called the police and told them about Kelly the same day you go to kill him. That can't be a coincidence, Agent Roberts."

Feeling a rush of panic at the possibility he might see through my mask, I offer: "Fyodor Morozov was the one who told me where to find him."

"Then he must have been the one to muck up this whole operation. I want you to find him and kill him, is that understood, Agent Roberts?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You have forty-eight hours." And then he hangs up.

That short window is punishment for failing in my mission today, but I have no regrets. I would rather get any kind of punishment than give into my anger and kill in the name of revenge. The moment I do that, I become what I was trained to be, what everyone thinks I am, a monster no better than HYDRA.

Some would say that's already the case.

I can't help but think of Fyodor. I didn't even hesitate before blaming this whole thing on him. Because of what I said, he's now marked for death. He may not be an innocent man, he may be a criminal gang leader...but it's still wrong to have him pay for my actions.

And now I have to kill him.

There's no way I could get him a new identity and ship him off to another country. For one thing, I don't trust him to keep the secret that I help my victims get to safety instead of killing them, and that secret would be exposed to him the moment I try to help him. For another, I know he won't abandon his power or his money. He's too corrupt and vain to even consider starting over after he's built so much. He would refuse to leave or would go for a time and come back, and then Pierce would know I have been pretending this whole time.

I have no choice. He's too much of a liability to be kept alive. I have to do this.

The knowledge makes my stomach churn, but I ignore it, instead focusing on starting up the car's engine. Once the car is on, the radio pops back on and that talk show is still going on, so I switch the channel and land on a 60's station. 'Sinnerman' by Nina Simone blares through the speakers as I pull away from The Anastasia.

I look again at the rescued HYDRA recruits, who have been given some blankets and water, and feel another stab of jealousy, as well as a couple other emotions. Hatred. Anger. Sorrow. Grief. All bundled up in one, once again making me feel suffocated. I open the window again in hopes some fresh aid will help, but it doesn't. Nothing will help. Nothing can change that I am still HYDRA's pawn while all those people are free. Seeing them, seeing the elated expressions on their faces, only serves as a reminder that I'm not free, that my family isn't free...

It's a reminder that I will never be free.