The Most Dangerous Game | Sherlock Holmes

12

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"The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning."

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

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WHEN SHE OPENED HER EYES, all Galina could make out were blurry figures- blurry figures against a dark and brooding background. 

Her eyes were obscured by a smelly and dirty piece of cloth that seemed to distort her vision into some twisted nightmare. She tried to open her mouth to let out a strangled groan at the pain that pounded through her head, but she was gagged and immediately choked on the piece of fabric.

Her heart began to race as she struggled against the chair, crying when she realized that her hands were bound tightly on the arms by coarse ropes and that her feet were similarly secured. If she had doubted it before, she no longer would; her wrist was most definitely broken.

"Ah, you are awake, yes?"

The antagonistic voice forced her to regain some composure as she tried to level her breathing. Without warning, the sack on her head was ripped off, followed soon after by the fabric wrapped around her mouth.

Although it took her a few seconds to adjust to unfiltered sight, she looked down in horror to find that she was only wearing her undergarments. She looked at her right wrist and saw that it was bent at an awkward angle and that the skin surrounding it was coated with matted blood.

She couldn't see it but she could feel the blood that was coating her hair and she tasted the metallic sting in her mouth and spat on the ground.

She quickly analyzed her surroundings, trying to figure out where she was, but to no avail. The room was surely to be in an abandoned building because the walls were rotting and the room smelled primarily of wet mold. The only sounds she could hear were the persistent drip-drip of water trickling behind her.

When she zeroed in on the person in front of her, the one that had called to her, she froze and felt any semblance of calmness pale just like her face. 

"Oksana," Vladimir said, kneeling down in front of her and brushing his fingers against her bruised leg. "You sure have grown into a gorgeous woman."

Galina didn't want to show any fear, but being face to face with the leader of the organization that had captured her was too much. Her lips trembled as she took in his aged face which was covered with well-deserved wrinkles and patchy facial hair. His hair was much greyer than she remembered and when he smiled wickedly at her, all she could see were cigarette-stained teeth.

"That is not my name," she spat, fighting against her binds.

"You will always be Oksana Sokolova in my eyes." Vladimir's amusement as he tipped his head rivaled that of a child who had just recently gotten away with a nasty trick. "We have looked so long for you, Oksana."

"I thought they killed all of you," Galina barked as her fear slowly morphed into rage. "The raid. I-"

"Ah, so they thought," he snickered, running his fingers across his mustache. "They killed the majority of us- yes- but you remember Demetri?"

How could she ever forget? 

Demetri with his stark brown hair and hooked nose was the one that was in charge of the chemical aspect of her experiments.