Two

She excused herself at about eleven and made her way home. As she crossed the Brooklyn Bridge the moon hung fat and succulent over the ocean, offering her a golden path towards something inexpressibly beautiful. But she gave it no more that a wry smile. She knew well that if she put one foot on that golden path, she would sink without a trace into cold, dark waters.

By the time she reached 16th Street, near Prospect Park, it was almost midnight. She pulled into her drive and climbed out of her car. The street was quiet and the slam of her door echoed, harsh against the sleeping houses. The light from the streetlamps glowed through the leaves of the trees, and for a moment she felt unaccountably afraid. She locked the car with a loud bleep and made her way towards her front door.

A noise behind her made her stop and turn.

It was standing at the entrance to her driveway, watching her. It was largely in shadow, and impossible to make out in detail, but she could have sworn, by the size and the silhouette, that it was a large, Siberian tundra wolf. It seemed to sniff the air. She went cold and felt the hair on her arms and her head prickle as it walked towards her. With a strange thrill, she hunkered down and offered it the palm of her hand. The light from the lamp caught its gray fur and its amber eyes.

“You are…” she whispered. “You are a beauty. You’re a damned tundra wolf…”

It smelled her hand, then moved in close and smelled her face. She giggled as it moved its snout down to her ear and her neck, where Mark had smelt her earlier that evening. It let out a soft growl, withdrew, leapt easily over the garden wall and loped off down the road, towards the park.

She stood a while, looking at the empty space where it had been, wondering if she had hallucinated it. After a while she unlocked the door and went in. She didn’t bother putting on the light. She left her bag and coat in the hall and climbed the stairs.

She brushed her teeth in the stark glare of the bathroom, then switched off and went straight to her bedroom. The evening had been more exhausting than she had expected. She undressed and fell into bed. She didn’t like social functions. On the whole she didn’t like people much. She preferred animals. They were more direct, more honest.

Why then, she asked herself as she closed her eyes and drifted off. Did she dislike Mark? She had probably never met anyone so direct or so honest. But there was something unsettling about him. Something predatory, as though a savage, uninhibited animal lived just beneath his urbane, sophisticated skin.

A wolf, she thought, as she drifted off.

She wasn’t sure at first what woke her up. She had heard something. It might have been in her dream. She wasn’t sure. She lay awake, staring at the shadows beyond her open bedroom door. The house was silent and dark.

Then a rustle, a movement just on the edge of hearing. Again, but not enough to be sure. She rose up on one elbow. She could sense a presence, but had trained herself out of listening to her instincts, to her animal senses. She was a scientist. She dealt in empirical facts, not feelings.

But then there was a creak, a clear, distinct creak on the stairs. And then another. And then a rush of feet.

She screamed before she saw them. It was the rush of feet that made her scream. They crashed in through the door, one after another. There were three or maybe four of them, dressed in black. She was scrambling out of bed, naked, reaching for the bedside lamp. She knocked it over and it fell to the floor. She was overwhelmed by huge bodies closing in on her. A bag went over her head. Terror scorched her belly. She struggled to run but powerful arms gripped her. She felt the bed sheet being wrapped around her tight. Then straps or ropes biting in, immobilizing her arms and legs. She screamed again. The hood was lifted above her nose and a strip of duct tape was slammed over her mouth. An ugly voice spoke in her ear.

“Shut up and you won’t get hurt.”

Strong hands gripped her and she was carried down the stairs. She heard the front door open and then the night air on her skin. Her panic was a wild thing thrashing inside her. She couldn’t think. A voice in her head kept telling her this could not be happening. It was impossible. She heard a trunk open. She was dumped onto something hard and she heard the trunk close. Then everything was muffled. She heard the engine start and they began to move.

They drove for about an hour, maybe a little less. She struggled to stay cool and think, but every so often a wave of despair and panic would wash over her, draining her of her strength and her resolve.

Finally they came to a halt. She heard the car doors slam like a volley of shots, and then the trunk opened. Hands grabbed her brutally and dragged her out. Incongruously she heard birds singing and wondered if it was the dawn chorus. That would make it about four AM. In the distance a ship groaned a lonely howl across the river.

She was bundled through a door and carried laboriously up some stairs. She was aware they were narrow and creaked a lot. The building was probably old. Her brain was beginning to work, fitting things together. The nature of the house, the proximity of the ships or barges, the presence of birds – her instinct told her she was in the Bronx. And that made a sick hollow in her belly.

Why would somebody kidnap her and bring her to the Bronx? White slaving? But why her? Why a college professor for God’s sake? Why risk the police hunt that would inevitably follow.

They maneuvered through another door and she felt herself swung and then thrown. She tensed but landed on a bed that creaked and wobbled like old springs.

A voice she recognized said, “I will open. Go, go.”

Heavy feet and bodies lumbered out of the room. The hood was tugged from her head. She stared up in disbelief at the face grinning down at her, still dressed in his exquisitely cut suit. He reached down, flicked the corner of the duct tape and ripped it off in a quick movement.

She said, “Zoltan? What the hell do you think you are doing?”

He wheezed his weird laugh and creased up his eyes.

“You must be very surprised to see me? You probably expected anybody but me? Am I right?”

She could only repeat, “What the hell?”

She looked around the room. It was small and filthy. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling. The walls, once a ghastly pink, were now peeling paint and flaking plaster. The floors were rough boards. She was sitting on a bare mattress, on a steel-framed bed. Zoltan watched her and shook his head.

“Maria, Maria, things are so seldom what they are seeming to be. Isn’t it? Now, I want untie you and make you comfortable, but I must be sure you are not doing anything stupid.”

She gaped at him. “I’m not doing anything stupid? Have you any idea how stupid what you have done is? I’m a fucking college professor, Zoltan! Your friend Mark is investing hundreds of thousands of dollars in my department! My research is high profile. I am in the media for crying out loud! How long do you think it will be before the cops are combing the whole damned city for me?”

He listened to her with a kind of idiot grin on his face. He said, “Yes…”

“What do you mean, ‘yes’? Untie me and let me go home!”

His grin deepened. “Noooo… You have to stay. If you try to escape, boys are all over house and will give you good smacking. I don’t want break your bones or kill you, but if necessary…” he spread his hands and shrugged. “What to do? Right?”

“You’re insane…”

His face lit up with glee. “Oooh, nooo! I get good price for you! Very good price! Soon nice people come for you.”

“What?”

“So, I untie you, you good girl. OK?”

She nodded mechanically. As he cut her bonds she hugged the sheet closer around her. She said, “You are selling me? What the hell is going on, Zoltan?”

“Now I take you in with other girls. Soon you see everything clear. You see.”

He led her across a narrow landing and through another door. This room was bigger. There was a double bed, also a threadbare sofa and a couple of shabby armchairs. Six frightened-looking girls sat around staring at her and Zoltan. She took in their hair and their clothes and concluded they were all hookers. She turned and stared at him.

“Do you understand, Zoltan? I am a college professor. Do you understand that?”

He grinned and laughed and wheezed and patted her arm. “Everything become clear soon. Very soon client is coming for you and some other lucky girl.”