Trust and wine

The condensation on the third bottle of Pinot Noir was starting to pool on the mahogany table, a dark ring marking the passage of hours we could never get back. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes of the cabin, but inside, the air was stifling, thick with the scent of fermented grapes and the things we weren't saying.

Val leaned back, her cheeks flushed a deep rose. She laughed at something Vic said—a sharp, melodic sound that used to make me feel safe. Now, it just felt like a distraction.

"Come on, Deppgrl," Val said, sliding the bottle toward me. Her eyes were soft, brimming with that old, practiced empathy. "You’ve been nursing that same half-inch of wine since the pasta was cleared. We’re safe here. Let your hair down."

I looked at the glass. The liquid was a dark, bruised purple. "I’m fine, Val. Just a bit of a headache."

It was a lie. My head was perfectly clear—frighteningly so. I needed to keep my wits about me. I needed to be the one who noticed if a word tripped up, if a story didn't quite align with the one told three hours ago.

Vic reached over and squeezed my hand. His palm was warm, a grounding wire in a room full of static. He looked at Val, his expression unreadable. "She’s had a long week, Val. We both have."

"I know you have," Val sighed, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing the edge of my sleeve. "And you know I’m here. Like always. Whatever you need to dump, whatever you’re afraid of... it stays at this table. You trust me, don't you?"

Once, that question would have been an insult. Of course I trusted her. We had a decade of secrets buried in the floorboards of our friendship. But as I looked at her—really looked at her—I realized that trust wasn't a permanent state of being. It was a currency, and I had spent my last dime weeks ago.

"I know you've always been there," I said, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. "It’s just... the world looks different lately. For me, the shadows are longer."

Val’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened. "Different doesn't mean me, Deppgrl. I’m the constant. Remember?"

"I'm trying to," I replied.

I looked at Vic. He knew. He was the only one who saw the ledger in my mind, the way I was cross-referencing every movement Val made against the evidence we’d found. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to sink into the wine and the warmth and the sisterhood she was offering.

But as much as I knew that I should trust Val, I knew that I’d run out of the capacity to do it. The vault was empty. In this room, in this world, there was only Vic, and there was me, and there was the cold, hard silence of everything I was forced to keep hidden.

"Another glass, then?" Val asked, already reaching for the corkscrew.

"No," I said, finally setting my glass down with a definitive clack. "I think I've had enough for one night."

I pushed my chair back, the screech of wood against the floor sounding like a frantic warning. As I stood, I caught the look they exchanged—a shared flicker of genuine hurt that, for a split second, almost made me regret my coldness. But then I remembered why I was sober, and the regret vanished.

"I'm going to turn in," I muttered, not meeting their eyes.

I walked away from the glow of the dining room and into the dim, narrow hallway that led to the room where I usually slept. The floorboards groaned under my weight. Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of Vic’s chair as he started to excuse himself, his footsteps quickening as if to follow me.

"Vic, wait," Val’s voice rang out, sharp and authoritative.

I paused in the shadows of the hallway, out of sight but still within earshot. I heard the rustle of fabric—Val must have caught his arm.

"Let her go," Val said softly, though there was an edge to it that hadn't been there before. "She needs a little bit of space, Vic. She needs time to figure things out on her own right now. If you go in there, you're just going to crowd her."

There was a long silence. I waited for Vic to protest, to tell her that he was the only one I actually wanted near me, but the only sound was the wind outside and the distant clink of a wine glass being refilled.

Val was still managing the room. She was still controlling the narrative, even when I wasn't at the table to hear it. I retreated into my room and shut the door, the click of the lock feeling like the only honest thing left in the house.

I didn't turn on the lights. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed, still in my clothes. My mind was a carousel of suspicions, but the exhaustion of the past week finally dragged me under. I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep that felt more like a blackout than a rest.

Hours later, I was jolted awake.

The room was pitch black, but the silence had been shattered. At first, I thought it was the wind or the old house settling, but then I heard it again—a low, guttural moan that vibrated through the thin walls. My heart hammered against my ribs, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.

It wasn't just the house.

From the guest room right across the hall, I heard the rhythmic creak of a bed frame and a sharp, breathless intake of air. It was Val’s voice—unmistakable, stripped of its polished veneer, sounding raw and urgent.

"God, Vic... right there," she gasped, her voice thick with a heat that made my stomach churn. "Don't stop... I’ve wanted this all night."

Then came Vic’s voice, a low, ragged rumble. "I know," he breathed, his voice strained and heavy. 

A wet, rhythmic sound followed, punctuated by Val’s sharp cries. "Do you think Deppgrl has any idea?" she whispered between frantic breaths, a cruel lilt to her voice even now. "Do you think she knows how much you want me?"

"Just shut up and hope she doesn't hear," Vic groaned, the bed hitting the wall with a dull, steady thud that echoed in my skull. "This is only happening once."

I laid there, paralyzed, the darkness of the room pressing down on me. The one person I thought was on my side, the one person I had let into my ledger of secrets, was just on the other side of that door with the woman I was trying to protect him from.

The trust hadn't just run out. It had been set on fire.

I waited until the sounds faded into the heavy, post fuck silence of the house. Adrenaline, cold and sharp, replaced the paralysis. I moved like a ghost. I found a large duffel bag in the back of the closet and began stuffing my clothes into it, even the ones I stored here. I didn't fold them; I just cleared the dresser drawers and the hangers, leaving nothing of myself behind. I slipped into the bathroom, swept my toiletries into a side pocket, and then dressed in my heaviest gear—layers of wool and Gore-Tex.

Moving silently, I let myself into the kitchen. The moonlight reflecting off the snow outside provided just enough light to see. I bypassed the luxury items and went straight for the pantry. I found a heavy canvas bag and filled it with the essentials: bags of rice, dried beans, canned meat, and pouches of dried fruit. It was a scavenger's haul, but it was survival.

I saw the key to the ATV—the one Val had generously offered for our stay—sitting on the counter. I pocketed it, my jaw tight.

I moved to the alarm panel by the back door. I punched in the code, felt the system go dormant, and stepped out into the biting roar of the blizzard. I paused only to re-set the alarm from the exterior keypad, sealing them inside their own betrayal.

The snow was a white wall, stinging my eyes and stealing my breath. By feel alone, I ran my hands over the chassis of the ATV, checking the wheel wells and the undercarriage for any trackers. Nothing. I didn't want to give her the chance to find me.

I didn't start the engine. Instead, I grabbed the handlebars and pulled the machine through the deepening drifts. I labored for nearly half a mile, the physical exertion keeping the tears from freezing on my face. Only when the house was a faint, dark speck in the white did I climb on.

I turned the key. The engine roared to life, a defiant sound against the storm. As I sped toward my nearby safe house, my mind finally began to process the "why."

I knew Vic. I knew he was flawed. I’d always known he would eventually stray, finding some woman who wasn't his wife and wasn't me. But I never expected it to be Val. I had trusted her with my life, and she knew that.

But Val was more than just a friend; she was the legacy of a bloodline that held ancient, seductive power. Her great-great-grandfather’s "skills" weren't just legend. She had used that allure—that pull that transcended simple attraction—to weave a spell around him. Vic wasn't innocent, though. Val was stunning, yes, but he wouldn't have just broken like this if he hadn't leaned into the magic. He had fallen under her spell willingly, trade-off for a night of something he thought I couldn't give him.

I reached the third safe house, the small cabin appearing out of the snow like a ghost. I tried to close my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. Every time I drifted, I heard the creak of that guest room floor.

I gave up on rest. I moved through the house, gathering everything I could find. I grabbed a small, portable cooking stove, a stack of full fuel cans, and as much bottled water and extra fuel as I could carry. I went back to the ATV and refilled the tank, then meticulously packed the new supplies into the machine's compartments, balancing the weight for the rough miles ahead.

One last trip inside. I found my medications in the cabinet—the things I couldn't afford to be without. I shoved them deep into my bag, took one final look at the cold, empty room, and left.

I drove for hours. The wind was a constant scream against my helmet, and the cold seeped into my bones despite the gear. My vision began to blur at the edges, the white landscape turning into a dizzying smear.

I was halfway to my fourth safe house when I realized I couldn't make it the rest of the way without stopping. I veered off the main trail toward a small, secluded house belonging to an old acquaintance. I needed to get out of the wind before I froze to the seat.

I parked the ATV in a drift and stumbled to the porch. My hands were so numb I could barely ball them into a fist. I knocked on the door, a weak, desperate sound.

The door swung open almost immediately. Sancho stood there, silhouetted against the warm, golden light of the interior. He didn't ask questions. He didn't demand to know why I was out in a blizzard at this hour. He just saw the state I was in, his eyes widening slightly behind the familiar frames of his glasses, and pulled me inside.

I don’t know how long I was asleep.

The first thing I registered was the crackle of a fire. It was a sharp, rhythmic sound that cut through the haze of my mind. Then came the weight—the heavy, suffocating comfort of what felt like a hundred wool blankets piled on top of me. I tried to move, but my body felt sluggish, anchored to the cot I was lying on.

My skin felt sensitized, the air in the room warm and dry. As the fog cleared, I realized I was naked beneath the blankets. Sancho must have stripped the frozen, wet gear off me to keep hypothermia from setting in while I was out.

I blinked, the firelight dancing against the ceiling. I shifted slightly, and that’s when I saw him. He was sitting in a chair nearby, a book in his lap, the orange glow of the embers highlighting the lines of his face.

"Welcome back," Sancho said. His voice was quiet, respectful of the silence, but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. He set the book aside and leaned forward. "You were out for a long time. I was starting to think I’d have to check your pulse again."

I tried to sit up, clutching the blankets to my chest. "Thank you, Sancho. Truly. For everything." My voice was raspy, but the warmth in the room was slowly mending the damage the cold had done.

He waved off the thanks with a slight shake of his head. "Don't mention it. But we have things to discuss. While you were out—for eighteen hours, by the way—Val called. On the sat phone."

I felt my heart skip. "What did she say?"

"She was looking for you," Sancho said, his expression hardening. "Said you’d left without a note. I told her I hadn't seen a soul. I purposely lied to her, Deppgrl. I even went out and hid her ATV under a tarp and some brush behind the shed. She doesn't need to know you're here or within a hundred miles of this place."

I thanked him again, the weight of the betrayal back at the house feeling even heavier now that I was safe.

"Eighteen hours," I repeated, rubbing my temples.

"Time enough for me to get to work," he said, standing up. He moved to the corner of the room where a shadow seemed deeper than the rest. He pulled back a sheet, revealing something that made my breath catch.

It was a dummy. But calling it a dummy didn't do it justice. It was a surreal, lifelike recreation of me—my height, the shape of my jaw, the way my hair fell. In the dim light of a blizzard, or through the lens of a scope, it would be indistinguishable from the real thing.

"I need your permission first," Sancho said, his voice turning professional, the tone of a man who dealt in disappearances. "The plan is this: I empty your supplies out of Val's ATV and load them onto mine. You take my machine and head for your fourth safe house. I follow you on Val’s ATV with this... version of you sitting behind me. Once we reach the ridge near the old pass, I’ll get off and send the ATV over the side. I’ll make sure it looks like a nasty, unavoidable accident."

I looked at him and unable to say anything to him. I felt gratitude for him

He looked me dead in the eye. "Your death would be faked. Val—and unfortunately, Vic—would think you were dead. So would everyone else who’s been sniffing around your trail."

The thought of Vic thinking I was dead sent a cold shiver through me that had nothing to do with the blizzard. I wanted to be on board with the safety of it, the absolute clean break, but the idea of Vic grieving for a lie felt like a different kind of betrayal.

As if reading my mind, Sancho leaned in closer. "Vic has to believe it, Deppgrl. For this to work, there can't be a single doubt in that house. I know more than I should. While she was on that phone, I could hear them - both of them. They told me everything. She doesn't regret a damn thing. He does, but that doesn't change what happened."

He paused, watching the conflict play out on my face. He didn't need me to speak. With one look, Sancho saw the shift in my eyes. He knew that for me to survive, I needed Vic to believe that I was gone forever.

"Do it," I whispered.

"I'll start working," Sancho nodded, his gaze sweeping over my pale face. "But I need you to eat and drink first. You burned a ton of calories fighting that wind and the snow to get here, and you burned more just shivering in your sleep. You’re going to burn even more heading to the next house. I won't have you fainting halfway there."

I nodded as I threw the blankets back and got up. I didn't care that I was naked in front of him; at this point, modesty felt like a luxury for people who weren't running for their lives. "Make Val's ATV burn," I told him, my voice cold. "I want it to look like a wreck and I want it to be final."

"I'll take care of it," he promised, his face unreadable.

As he headed out to the shed to begin the logistics, I pulled my bag close. I took out fresh, dry clothes—heavy wool socks, thermal layers, and thick pants—and dressed quickly. I looked at my old gear hanging by the fire, still damp and smelling of woodsmoke and snow. I wanted to throw them into the flames, to erase every trace of the night I’d just survived, but I knew Sancho needed them for the dummy. They were the essential props for my funeral.

I headed into the kitchen and ate with a desperate, animalistic hunger. I shoveled down canned stew, bread, and dried fruit, washing it all down with nearly a liter of water and two cups of bitter, black coffee. My body felt like a machine being refueled.

Before I left the kitchen, I pulled a roll of money from my hidden pocket and placed a few thousand rubles on the counter next to his coffee machine. It wasn't enough to pay for a life, but it was all the gratitude I could afford right now.

I grabbed two of Sancho's heaviest spare wool blankets from the linen chest and hauled my bag toward the door. The cold air hit me as soon as I cracked it, but I felt different now. Fed, rested, and officially dead. I stepped out into the white.

"Ready?" I asked him.

Sancho nodded. We worked in a focused silence, loading my belongings into his largest ATV. It was a beast of a machine, wider and faster than Val's, built for the kind of terrain that killed less cautious riders. Once the gear was secure, he showed me two secret compartments built into the frame. Both were packed with sealed containers of fuel.

"In case the house is compromised and you have to keep moving," he explained.

I reached out and hugged him, the wool of his coat scratching my cheek. "I owe you big time, Sancho. Once things settle... once I'm safe... I'll return the favor."

He pulled back, his expression grim. "Once your dummy dies out there, Deppgrl, you’re dead. You won’t be able to help anyone, and you certainly won’t be helping me. Don't talk about favors."

I started to argue, to tell him that death was just a technicality for people like us, but he stopped me with a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Do you remember the tribe down south?" he asked suddenly. "The one that used to castrate their young boys for their choir? When the invasion came, and the territory was terrorized?"

I froze. The memory was a jagged piece of glass in my mind—a mission from a lifetime ago. A village reduced to ash and a child I’d found hiding in the hollow of a tree.

"I was the last castrati alive," Sancho said softly. "You stitched me up. You fed me. You dressed me up so I’d pass for something other than a target and you put me with a family that kept me hidden until I was old enough to save myself. I am the one that owes you their life."

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The glasses, the beard, the years—they all fell away. "Puffin?" I whispered, using the name I’d given the boy who refused to stop chirping until he was safe. "Is it really you? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want your pity," he said simply. "I wanted to be the man who could save you in return."

We hugged again—this time, it wasn't just a goodbye. It was a recognition of a circle closing.

"Follow me," he said, climbing onto Val's ATV, the dummy of me secured behind him like a silent passenger. "We keep a steady pace until the pass. Then, we make you a ghost."

I nodded then followed my dear friend to the pass.