"The really unexpected affair"~ chapter 11

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Links to: Chapter 1. Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10


Illya closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep but his mind was refusing to cooperate. The image of the boy running out in front of Cossack Sun had stuck with him;  the look of terror in the child’s eyes was something he couldn’t shake.

He tossed and turned until finally drifting off, but it wasn’t a restful sleep as his old nightmares came back to haunt him yet again. The image of the terrified boy frozen in fear before he ran off had no doubt triggered them.

.

One by one a nine year old Illya watched so many of the other children weaken and die in the concentration camp at Sryets. It was located just outside Kyiv near the Babi Yar ravine, where so many people had been murdered, and it was still happening there and inside the camp.

The children were being worked to death, standing at the sorting tables for countless hours at a time without the benefit of food or drink, and not enough rest. One by one they disappeared with their eyes wide with fear, as they disappeared into one particular building set aside from the others.

If they returned, and very few did, they weren’t the same as their bodies and minds were mangled from terrible experiments performed upon them.

It was that lone building that terrified young Illya. It was where he saw the man known only as Herr Doktor go on a daily basis...the boy never knew the man’s real name. Along with the doctor was his oily faced assistant, a man named Karl Voelker, who was deeply hated as well but for other reasons.

The day finally came when it was Illya’s turn to be taken to that special building…

He was brought inside, his tattered clothes removed and he was unceremoniously shoved into a room; the metal door clanging shut behind him. Above him was a shower head, and the boy began to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself. He’d heard rumors that showers were where people were gassed to death.

Illya wanted to cry, but he had no more tears left to give; he steeled himself for the inevitable. It was his time to finally die, he knew it in his heart. He would join his family and friends at last.

There was a loud bang and water suddenly burst from the shower head and all he could do was erupt in laughter. Though ice cold, it felt wonderful as the water cascaded over him; it was the first bath he’d had since...well, since before his babushka disappeared. Illya had no concept of how much time that really was, but he knew it was long enough.

He remembered sitting in the kitchen of his family’s dacha, what seemed like a lifetime ago now.  His Baba filled a galvanized tub with water heated on the black cast iron stove in the kitchen and after much coaxing, there she made him sit, scrubbing her dirty blond grandson with a brush until his skin was pink.

“There, you look like a little boy again Illyusha. I recognize my grandson now,” Babushka laughed.

She didn’t say how skinny he was, as their food was almost gone. She’d stopped eating in order to feed Illya and his baby sister Katiya, but it simply wasn’t enough for them either. They were all that was left of the family and she had to protect them and keep them alive. Marina Kuryakina knew she needed to go in search of food for the last of her family.

Baba did that one day, leaving her grandson and his baby sister Katiya hidden in the attic of the family dacha.

And now he stood in this cold water, shaking away those memories. His grandmother never returned. He’d gone looking for food himself, leaving Katiya in the attic of the family dacha and watched later as the Nazis burned down the house with her still in it. There was nothing he could do, he was helpless then, as he was now.

They were all gone now, his parents, brothers, sister, grandmother...he was the last Kuryakin. Even his Roma family, Uncle Vanya and cousin Anastasiya were dead.* Why was he the only one left alive? That he could not understand.

Illya reached out to a shelf, finding a sliver of soap and lathered up with it as best he could then rinsing away the meager suds. It was the first time he’d seen himself without clothing in a very long time, and realized he was skin and bones, just like the other children had become.

The metal door creaked open and Karl Voelker stood there, looking him up and down like a hungry man.

“You have cleaned up well enough; Herr Doktor does not like a dirty specimen. The man’s gaze made Illya feel uncomfortable as did that word... specimen. The boy was relieved when Voelker tossed him a coarse towel to dry himself.

“Schnell, you pretty little beast. Do not keep Herr Doktor waiting.

Illya was taken to another room, lifted naked to a cold metal table and strapped down. Beside him was another table containing surgical instruments and syringes along with vials of nasty looking liquids.

The boy began to tremble uncontrollably. Though he had prepared himself to die, he was still but a child and fear of the unknown could not be ignored.

Herr Doktor came in, strutting over to the table and carefully examined Illya’s head shape. He looked at the boys file, seeing that it was noted he spoke fluent German.

“This child should have been sent off to the Lebensborn,” he concluded,” though he is a little small for his age. Shame, it is too late now. We will proceed with the experiment...Voelker, hand me the syringe with compound J.”

“Ja Herr Doktor.”

After searching for a vein in the child’s arm the doctor injected him. He sat back on a chair, picking up a clipboard, observing and making notes on the reactions.

Illya’s skin became flushed, and he began to tremble even more. His eyes rolled back and he seemed to have a small seizure.

“Gut, sehr gut,” the doctor smiled, “that is the most positive reaction we’ve had yet...Voelker, inject compound P.”

Karl picked up the next vial of green liquid, drawing some into the syringe and obeying the doctor he injected that as well into Illya’s arm.

Young Kuryakin began to breathe heavily, grimacing from some unseen pain, but he said nothing and bore it in silence.”

“This specimen is exceptional,” Voelker smiled, the others were screaming and begging for mercy by now. Shall I inject the next serum Herr Doktor?”

“By all means yes,” he smiled. “Nine, wait a moment.” The doctor took Illya’s jaw in his fingers, turning the child’s head left then right. “There is something familiar about his face. “He reminds me of Colonel Nexor’s son.”

“Boy,” he forced Illya to look directly at him. “Who is your father?”

“Ya ne dolzhen vam skazat',” he defiantly answered in Russian.

“None of that low-brow gutter language. I know you speak German. Now answer me!” This time he wrenched the boy’s face harder, forcing Illya to look at him.

“Owww. My father was Nikolai Alexeevich Kuryakin.” Illya stared back with defiance at the face he would never forget. It was gaunt, a scar on the forehead, the man's nose must have been broken at one time as it was wide and flattened. His mouth was barely a slit. Yet it was the eyes, the piercing dark eyes that seemed to burn into Illya’s soul.

To the boy, Herr Doktor exemplified evil incarnate, a twisted Machiavellian creature. Illya was well read and knew the meaning of the word.

“And you were born where?” The doctor continued to interrogate him.

“Here in Kyiv.”

“Is there anything wrong Herr Doktor? I could get another subject?” Voelker asked.

“No, just something that came to mind. There was a doctor who had been doing experimentation in cloning...what was his name now? Ah yes, Dr. Franz Müeller. He was tasked with creating a duplicate of the Füher, but his experiments never reached that stage and were deemed a failure.

I had heard most of the children were disposed of, though some disappeared. Colonel Nexor was involved in the project as I recall; a few of the mothers of the children were rumored to have been from this area. Hmmm, I wonder... interesting, but no matter, as the work was a deemed a failure. ** We will proceed Karl with another injection.”

The next compound was a ruby red liquid and once Voelker injected it in Illya’s arm the boy reacted to it instantly; developing a rather substantial erection.

“Excellent!  If it works on a prepubescent boy, this compound should work wonders for men who are sexually dysfunctional.”

Illya finally whispered, ”It hurts.”

The doctor and Voelker laughed at that statement. “You will have to deal with it boy,” the doctor said. “Karl, time how long the erection lasts.”

Though the doctor couldn’t see it, Voelker stared hungrily at the boy, He daren’t risk touching the child lest he be caught by the doctor. Perverts who molested children were tolerated even less than homosexuals or Jews…”

“Better still after his excitement is over, given him another small dose and send him back to his barracks,” The dark-haired Herr Doktor snickered, “Perhaps he can find some muschi to fuck as a reward for his not dying on me. Watch out for this one Voelker he is special, I will have need of him for further experiments over the next few days...this one is strong, unlike the others. He is to be given extra rations in the meantime.”

An hour later Illya was finally back to normal, but exhausted. Voelker disobeyed Herr Doktor, not giving the boy the injection as instructed.

“No, little one. I will save this for another time, when we are alone again and you will be mine to do with as I please, and you will please me as well.” He waved the syringe in front of Illya’s face.

He unstrapped the boy, helping him down from the table. It was all Illya could do to wrench free of Voelker’s hands.

“Your clothing is on the bench there, dress yourself and return to your barracks, and here…” Voelker handed Illya a piece of paper. “Give this to the matron, you are to receive an extra ration of food each night until Herr Doktor needs you again. We must keep such a specimen as you alive until you are needed.”  

He suddenly grabbed Illya again by the arm, yanking the child close enough for the boy to smell his rancid breath.

“Tell no one of this, or you will suffer the consequences.”

Illya stood tall, acknowledging with a simple nod. He was afraid, but he was not. Life in the camp he supposed, had numbed him to any such threats.Voelker’s threats meant nothing to a boy who no longer wished to live.

He quickly dressed himself, leaving the building and heading straight to the barracks.

Though desperately wanting the extra rations; he tore up the note. That would only help him to stay alive. No, he wanted to die, and the sooner that happened the better.

Weeks passed, and Illya returned again and again to experiments with the Doktor. Some were painful, others were not.  His little body seemed to have a symbiotic relationship with what was injected into him, as if the drugs were making him stronger with a greater ability to recover from them, some not affecting him at all after a while. He seemed to develop an immunity to their effects.

“Fascinating,” Herr Doktor muttered.”When I am finished, a thorough necropsy of this one will be warranted.”

“Necropsy Herr Doktor? Isn’t that done on animals….oh,” Voelker laughed. “Very good sir, quite funny.”

Illya knew what that meant...death would finally take him, yet he wasn’t sure he wanted to die like some fatted cow all for the sake of this insane man’s curiosity.

He thought about just getting lost in the crowds of those poor souls being herded into the death vans. There at least he would die in comradeship with his friend Irina, and so many others who’d gone before him. These people, the Nazis, they did not see him or other people  as human; they were merely animals to do with as they wished. *

They would be coming for him again. Not again? He couldn’t bear the thought letting Herr Doktor or that molestor Volker touch him any longer.

Illya could feel the assistant’s hands upon him, touching him. the smell of his vile breath as the boy’s pants were pulled down…*

.

“Nyet!” Illya cried out as he woke with a start. “No more of this,” he hissed to himself; getting up and hobbling to the bathroom he first splashed cold water on his face.  Looking at his watch he decided it was best to shower, shave and dress as Napoleon would be checking on him soon no doubt, to let him know he would be left behind. He knew that’s what his partner was up to.

“Not on your life my friend,”Illya mumbled.

Solo woke before sunrise and quickly went about his morning routine. Breakfast would have to be skipped as he wanted to abscond before anyone was awake, though he suspected Cavendish and the rest of the staff were early risers.

He wore a casual pair of trousers, a charcoal grey polo shirt and a dark jacket; such attire suitable to doing what most likely would be some dirty reconnaissance work.

Writing a quick note to Illya, apologizing for leaving him behind; he slipped it under his partner’s door, only to have it shoot right back out at him.

“What the hell?”

The door opened and a fully dressed Kuryakin stood there, leaning on wooden cane for support.

“We were going somewhere, as I recall,” Illya stepped out to the hall, looking like his normal self had it not been for the cane. He was dressed in his jeans, black turtleneck and windbreaker.

“How did you know I’d be leaving this early?”

“I have worked with you long enough to know how you think...to a point. There is always a small room for error, given you tend to think by, as you have put it, the seat of your pants.” Illya canted his head to one side.

“Well, you almost got it right as it’s ‘fly by the seat of your pants’. Though you are correct in your supposition. I guess there’s no arguing with you is there?”

“Napoleon do I really need to answer that?”

Together they made their way downstairs. Napoleon placed another note he’d written ahead of time to Maude explaining he was off on some business, and asked her to take care of Illya. That he quickly scratched that out, saying Kuryakin was with him.

They managed to slip out the front door without being seen and headed down to the garage. To Solo’s surprise his partner was barely limping.

“How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Walking like you didn’t hurt your ankle. I know you have amazing recuperative powers but a bad sprain is a sprain.”

Illya winked. “You said it yourself, I have amazing recuperative powers.”

In reality it was a pain pill and his powers of concentration keeping him from limping at the moment. Though he usually refused such medication, in this case he made an exception as he needed to function and not let his discomfort distract him from the task at hand. Most likely it would result in his ankle swelling even more, but so be it; an ice pack applied later on would suffice, that and maybe more vodka.

The garage was filled with expensive cars, the original Silver Cloud Rolls Royce, an older model Rolls as well, a Jaguar, a sleek Mercedes sedan, and the tan Austin Healey.

That was the car Napoleon slipped into the driver’s seat; he’d helped himself to the keys from Maude’s purse the night before.

Illya lowered himself into the passenger seat, unhappy he wasn’t being permitted to drive this particularly hot car, but then again it was a stick and both feet would be needed to brake and use the clutch.

After a silent drive along the winding road, heading north for about fifteen minutes Kuryakin finally spoke.

“So what is the plan?”

“Umm, I don’t have one yet, exactly. I’ll figure it out once we get to where we’re going.”

“And that is?”

“I don’t know other than just north of the town. Keep your eyes peeled for a building, perhaps newer construction like a warehouse. That’s what the butcher sort of described to me, though I don’t think he’s actually seen it.”

“Lovely we do not know where we are going and until we get there, wherever that is, we do not have a plan of action.”

“Pretty much it.”

“So what else is new?”

The two of them smiled at that.

* ref to “Beginnings”

** ref to “Seeing Double”

Comments

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Finally have a chance to catch up with this. I've had a bad head cold all this week so a lot of my time has been taken up with feeling sorry for myself. (Hey, it takes a lot of time, alright?)

Anyway, this chapter was excellent. Made sense that Illya's dark memories would surface at this time, and no doubt they echo to what's to come. And I love that Illya ambushed him, particularly with the note being pushed out the door again, rather than just him opening it. Somehow that's a very 'him' touch.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I've created such a dark past for him that anything to do with the possible mistreatment of a child tends to trigger his awful childhood memories. He sublimates it all, but even the most stoic must deal with their pain once in a while.

I think the partners know each other that well that they're often able to second guess each other, and that's good when their lives are at risk.

Thanks for catching up and glad you liked the chapter.