Red Ticket: My Mistake
"Whatever the reason for his call, I couldn’t let him hang up. I definitely was not okay."
This weekend in Red Ticket, Robin is rescued, sort of, by Lyosha.
If you need to catch up, go back and read chapters 1, 2-3, 4-5, 6, 7, 8-9, 10-11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, and 34.
Chapter 35: My Mistake
by Robin Whetstone
It was 3 a.m. I lay on top of the bed and listened as someone worried the window in the living room, rattling the pane in its frame. Whoever it was pushed and pulled rhythmically on the wood around the glass, trying to get in. The banging of the window in its sill was steady and persistent. Soon the latch holding it closed would bend and give way and the window would fly open. I got out of bed and walked stiffly toward the noise. I’d thought so many times about what I would do when it happened, how I would feel. Scared? Relieved? Now that it was here I was blank with terror. I stood in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at the curtain as it trembled from the motion of the window behind it. Waves of fear that felt like nausea washed over me, my skin turning cold and then clammy with sweat. I stood there, waiting.
There was a mighty push on the window and it flew inward on its hinges, wide open, dragging the curtain on its rod. I screamed and dropped to the floor in a crouch, ready to spring. On the end table to my left, level with my ear, the phone rang. I screamed again. Thoughts exploded in my head. “Get the men!” “Get the phone!”
The ringing of the phone continued, five rings, six rings, piercing the 3 a.m. silence. I stayed in my crouch on the floor, ready for the blue-jeaned leg to hook itself over the sill, but there was nothing. A stiff wind blew through the screenless window, rifling the notebook pages still scattered across the floor. Not taking my eyes off the window, I leaned to the left and picked up the phone. I held it to my ear, breathing hard, saying nothing.
After many seconds of silence, a Russian man’s voice said, “Robin? Are you there?”
I could not answer. I knew the voice well, but why was it speaking to me now, at 3 a.m., right as the men were breaking in? The man continued. “What are you doing? Where have you been? You are no longer at Guardian. I am worried that something bad is happening to you. I will come get you in taxi. I want to see you.”
“Say something, or he’ll hang up,” I thought.
Whatever the reason for his call, I couldn’t let him hang up. I definitely was not okay.
I closed my eyes, confused. What was happening? It had been months since I’d talked to Lyosha. Who had given him my phone number? Why was he calling me now, right now, worried that something bad was happening to me just as the window flew open? Did he know? Had he paid someone to follow me and terrify me so I’d be broken when he called? Or maybe it was the opposite. Lyosha called exactly at the same time that the neighborhood men launched their assault, and the ringing phone scared them away. Or maybe these events were just coincidence, and had no deeper meaning at all. Which one was it? I tried to think.
Lyosha’s voice asked again if I was okay. “Say something, or he’ll hang up,” I thought.
Whatever the reason for his call, I couldn’t let him hang up. I definitely was not okay. I didn’t want Lyosha in my apartment – he’d take one look around at the papers and ashtrays and glasses stained with cayenne pepper and immediately know I’d lost my mind. But I agreed to walk up to the main highway to meet him in his taxi.
Twenty minutes later I was propped in the backseat, staring out the window at the sodium arc streetlights as they whizzed by. “You look terrible,” Lyosha had said when he saw me. “I was going to take you dancing, but let’s just go find some food.” We drove somewhere, to a hotel café that was somehow still open and had its tables set up in the brightly lit lobby. I sat down in the spindly metal chair and leaned against the lobby window, saying nothing, as Lyosha ordered me a chicken salad sandwich.
“Robin!” he said sharply, shaking me by the shoulder. I opened my eyes. Lyosha was settling back into the chair he’d leaned out of when he’d reached across the table to shake me awake. An empty cup of coffee sat in front of him.
“What? What?” I said, “What are we doing?”
“You were sleeping,” said Lyosha, standing up and putting on his jacket. “For an hour.”
“You were sleeping,” said Lyosha, standing up and putting on his jacket. “For an hour.”
I looked around the table, disoriented. There was a greasy smudge on the window where my cheek had been resting. “Oh,” I said. “Oh.”
“You need rest. I’m taking you home.”
“No!” I said. “Wait, wait, no, let’s just stay here for a little bit longer. I promise I’ll stay awake. I don’t want to go back to my apartment.”
“I’m not taking you back to your apartment,” he said, grabbing the underside of my arm near the shoulder and pulling, “I’m taking you home.”
***
The apartment looked almost the same as it had the day I left, only cleaner.
There was the table where I’d worried about Yeltsin’s referendum, and written my Sadistic Couplets article. There was the orderly kitchen, the bed in the living room, neatly made. I walked over to it without saying anything and lay down, my back to the room. At last, I could sleep. Lyosha would be there to watch me and make sure nothing bad happened. Just as I was drifting off, I felt Lyosha sit down on the edge of the couch. “Lyosha,” I mumbled, “Leave me alone. Let me sleep.”
“Be quiet, Robin.” Lyosha scratched my back in between my shoulder blades. “I am letting you sleep.”
***
I woke up late in the afternoon of the next day, a few hours before sunset. Lyosha was gone, working. I fetched half of the sandwich from the night before and sat down at the living room table, chewing slowly. Lyosha probably expected me to be here when he returned, otherwise he would have said goodbye. I remembered the fear I’d felt during my last week of living here, the certainty that one of his partners or competitors had a score they’d settle soon. Coming out here and exposing myself like this had been a mistake, I realized as I pulled on my coat and hurried to the door. I needed to get home so that I could maintain my vigilance and keep up my guard, and make sure I was still safe.
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