Looking For A Legend Chapter 32 - Mischa

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            Most jailors would put their prisoners in a solid room with thick walls and no windows.  There would be no way for the imprisoned to know how long he’d been there.  Mischa Sima’s captor was not like most jailors.  He had not only a window and a calendar, but encouraged him to keep track of the time.  They celebrated his and Yuri’s birthdays every year.  They celebrated Christmas, and Easter too.  The most perverse of these celebrations was August 27th, the anniversary of their capture.  This year would make fifteen years.

            For a prison, Mischa had a remarkable amount of freedom.  There were no bars on his window.  He was free to travel to most any part of the compound where he was being kept.  He was not allowed to have weapons – they took his knife and gun, but Mischa did not need those to kill, but he was allowed most anything else.  He had access to a medical bay as well stocked and trained as any hospital he’d been in, and a dining hall served by culinary masters.  The compound’s gymnasium may have once trained Olympian athletes, and their bedrooms had all the finest of amenities.  He simply couldn’t leave, or contact the world beyond the compound walls.

            Why didn’t he ever try to escape?  Their most powerful, deadly weapon against were beyond those walls.  And Mischa needed only to have made two mistakes to learn his place.

            His first mistake was fighting the doctors when he first woke up in this new prison.  He broke free of the leather restraints.  Ripped them from the bed he’d been tethered to the bed with.  The first doctor to respond was throttled to death by Mischa’s hands.  He didn’t need a weapon to kill.  He was weapon himself, a master of the Russian martial art of sambo.  Some of his guards had later even asked to spar, or for lessons.  But they weren’t friends yet, and a team of guards and doctors took Mischa down with tranquilizers formulated for a bull grizzly bear.  Mischa found that strangely fitting.

            His punishment came when he woke up.  His warden was standing over him, wearing a fox stole.    Instead of a young fox with a rich red coloring, the animal was older, with patchy grey fur.  Mischa recognized it instantly.  It was his pet fox, Nishi.  She’d even left Nishi’s leather collar around his neck.  It was made of scraps broken belt.  He’d made it at camp.  Mischa’s dark eyes went wide.  His warden watched his heart break with a smile twisting across her thin lips.  She still wore Nishi every day.

            She was a twisted woman with a twisted heart.  In some ways he was reminded of a terrible version of Ekaterina.  But even on her worst day, Ekaterina couldn’t hold a candle to this harpy.  Mischa often laughed at himself for his first impression of this woman.  Twenty years ago he took her for a sweet, innocent, and a little empty in the head.  Once, in another life time he had trusted her.  But Solange Marchand proved Mischa wrong.  She made it clear that she was not to be crossed.  Once, Mischa had thought Solange was merely a little obsessive with things she loved.  Now he was convinced she was truly a psychopath, and delusional.  She thought of herself as a great beauty and quick of wit.

            Twenty years ago she might have been right, at least about the beauty.  She was beautiful once, with long white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes.  Solange had a lithe figure and often wore a tan well into the winter.  She enjoyed being able to wear any style and looking good in it.  But now her hair was thinning – Mischa was convinced she’d taken to wearing a wig to hide it, her tresses thickened so quickly.  Solange’s skin was wrinkled and spotting.  Her eyes, once sparkling with energy and effervescence were now lit only with a lust for revenge.  It was as if she’d started wearing her true nature on the outside.

            Mischa committed his next mistake ten years into his stay at the compound.  Solange had decided that she wanted a baby, and only Mischa would do for a father.  Naturally, he did not agree to the polite invitation.  Her propositions continued for two weeks, each more forceful and demanding.  After his fourteenth refusal, Solange smiled and left his room.

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