Valon: What Once Was (Volkov Bratva Novella)(6)

Maybe, he thought as he curled into a ball, shivering from the cold night air, just maybe he would never feel good again.

—

When he was sure he had lost his toes to the chill, someone returned, unlocking his cage to throw in a scratchy, wool blanket, and then locked him back up again. Not until the sunlight beamed through the gaps in the wooden walls did someone return. Whether they figured he was in the same as them, the dogs had long since grown quiet, just eyeing him peculiarly, like maybe he meant to steal their food.

Feeding time for them had come again.

Not only for them, but a plate was also given to Valon. He didn’t complain once it was tossed in and some of it spilled out onto the ground; he was too hungry to care.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was eating, only that the spicy meat filled his belly, along with the rather substantial helping of rice and bread. He could hear the dogs to his right, growling, wanting the food he’d been given as well as their own, but he ignored them, eating every last bit of the food he’d been given before licking his fingers clean.

Wrapping the blanket tighter around himself, Valon waited, again, for someone to return. He had never given much thought as to whether he valued human company before. There was a time when he actually thought himself a loner of sorts, happy to be by himself. But, there was also his mother, whom he loved to be around, and even his friend, Fatos, that he wondered if he would ever see again. He didn’t realize how lonely he was until he was, in fact, alone.

For the next two days, he struggled with that thought. Sure, someone brought him food, barked at him as if he was one of the dogs if he took too long to respond to their inquiries. When they realized that there had been no place for him to relieve himself—and he hadn’t wanted to do it in a corner of his new living space—and that he’d soiled himself, they beat him with one of the brooms they kept handy, never getting too close to him since the odor was so bad.

It was only then that Gjarper returned, commanding them to leave him be. “Bastian needs him alive,” he said as Valon lay crumpled on the dirt floor, his blood now mixing with the dirt. “Come, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Despite his words, Gjarper didn’t lead Valon into the house. He led him around to the side where there was a hose and a large metal pan for Valon to stand in.

“Remove your clothes.”

Valon’s face colored as he looked from the pan to Gjarper, shame making him look away just as quickly. It wasn’t as though he had been particularly kind to Valon since he’d arrived—as he had left him in the kennels like an animal—but he didn’t want to make the man think of him as less than a human at the very least.

“You want fresh clothes? Move it.”

Valon thought he detected a note of compassion in the man’s voice, but he dismissed that as wishful thinking on his part. As Valon began the slow process of removing his clothes, tossing the soiled and dirty garments into a pile a few feet away, he covered himself as best he could, climbing into the pan.

With his back turned to him during this, Gjarper twisted the knob to the hose, water spraying out. His expression never changing, he sprayed Valon with the hose, making him turn in circles as he did so. Then he tossed Valon a bar of soap and ordered him to bathe.

Though it didn’t smell nearly as good as the soaps his mother had used, Valon was glad for it, cleaning himself as best as he could in the limited space and with his audience of one. Once he rinsed off again, a towel was thrown at him, the rough material harsh on his skin.

Finished with that as well, he was given a shirt, about a size or two too big for his lanky frame, and a pair of pants that he rolled a few times at the ankles.

“Dump the water.”

Valon did as he was told, walking back to Gjarper and waiting for his next order. This time, he was handed a gold-colored lighter, one that was engraved with a name. He silently pondered over that, knowing that despite any question he thought to ask, they would go unanswered.

“Burn the clothes.” Seeing his hesitation, though not knowing the true reason for it, Gjarper said, “Do you wish to put them back on? Get this done and come to the back door. I’ll be waiting.”

When he disappeared out of sight, Valon continued to stare at him, waiting for him to come back. When he didn’t, he dropped to his knees, rifling through the pockets until he uncovered the very thing he’d almost forgotten about.

Valon uncovered the combs slowly, afraid that they might have been broken, but fortunately, they were still intact. Wrapping them back up, he stuffed them in his pocket, picking up his old clothes with one hand and walking several feet into the dense woods.

It was a bit unnecessary, having to burn the clothes instead of just throwing them away, but as he watched them go up in smoke and saw the last bit of connection to his life back with his mother, a part of him understood the need for it.





-





3




Waiting for him after Valon had finished his task was not just Gjarper, but Bastian as well. Unlike the first morning when Valon had come to him, Bastian looked like the businessman he was rumored to be, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t flaws in his appearance.

He was standing tall as he gave orders to larger men surrounding him, but sweat discolored his collar, and his already small, beady eyes looked particularly narrowed as he tried to get his point across.