drive to Irina’s favorite playground.
A children’s audiobook sounds over the speakers, filling in the static because I need to gather the nerve to ask her something that has me clenching the steering wheel. If she says yes…
“Irina,” I say, looking at her in the rearview mirror.
She meets my eyes and smiles.
Clearing my throat, I commence. “I don’t want you to get upset, but can we talk about what happened in…the dark?”
Her confession about being scared of the dark disturbs me immensely because what Serg said he did to Irina in the dark is sickening. But if it’s true, I will get Irina the help she needs.
Her smile fades, and she quickly turns her head to look out the window.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s very important that you do.” I don’t know how to broach this. I’m sure there is some protocol to follow, but I need to do this my way.
“Did Serg, the man who took you from me, did he…hurt you? Touch you?” I swallow down so many vile emotions because this isn’t about me. It’s about Irina and finding out what happened to her.
Irina doesn’t reply.
“цветочек, I just want to help. I won’t get angry. Whatever answer you give me. I just need the truth.”
Irina swings her feet, her tiny kicks reverberating against the leather seat. She doesn’t want to talk about this, which has me believing there is truth in what Serg said.
Cursing under my breath, I control my temper because losing it now would be the worst thing I can do.
“Ski choo-choo,” Irina says, and even though I’m not angry with her, I can’t hold back the bite in my reply.
“I can’t read to you now! I’m asking you a question. Answer me.”
I instantly regret the words the moment they leave me, but I’m just so frustrated. Not with Irina, but rather, myself. I’m so angry with myself for failing her.
Peering at her in the rearview mirror, my insides sink when I see her eyes wet with tears. “Ski mad?”
“Not with you, цветочек.”
“Ski bring Irina b-back?”
Afraid I’ll drive us off the road, I signal and pull up by the curb. Once the SUV is in park, I turn over my shoulder to look at Irina. “Never. My home is your home, Irina. Always.”
She nods, sniffling. “Choo-choo help Irina,” she reveals, while I listen closely, unsure what she’s trying to say. “Choo-choo keep dark away.”
Thoughts are racing a million miles a minute as I attempt to decode what she just shared.
“The book I read you?” I ask, trying every angle until I find the right answer.
Irina shakes her head before pointing at the railway track to the right. “Choo-choo come, bad man go away.”
I frantically compile a list of things that could mean. “Bad man? Serg?” I ask.
Irina shakes her head.
Is she referring to her past?
“Bad man is your family?” I question, and Irina nods sadly. “Your папа?”
She nods again, confirming the bad man is her father.
A train is somehow linked to her childhood, something she sees as her saving grace. Once the train came, her father would go away?
Could it be when she heard the sound of the train horn, her ordeal would be over? Could it be because her mother, sister, brother, someone she trusted caught the train to work maybe, and when the horn sounded, she knew it meant they’d be home soon after. And so did her father.
Did he use the horn as a marker, knowing how many minutes he had left to abuse his own flesh and blood? Is this why she is so obsessed with Thomas Tank Engine and insists I read it to her over and over again? Does she feel safe when I read it to her?
I am going to find this piece of shit and end him in the most brutal of ways.
“Irina, what is папа’s name?”
She bites down on her bottom lip. I know this is painful for her.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing,” I assure her. “I’m going to protect you from him. He’ll never hurt you again. I promise.”
Irina sniffs, her lower lip trembling.
Before I can ask her anything further, my cell chimes. I decide to give Irina some time because I don’t want to press too hard and do more damage than good. Not recognizing the number, I press the button on my steering wheel to answer the call through my Bluetooth. When I hear Frank’s voice, a shot of utter wrath pulses throughout my body.
“Hi, my father