Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (26 page)

Except Svetlana.

When she saw me, she held her hands in front with her palms out and turned away from me—ballet mime for fear. 

Mikhail ignored her and took my hand. His foot showed no sign of the injury that had destroyed his career. When the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” played, Mikhail and I danced together as Snow King and Queen. My steps were perfect and he was dancing better than he ever had.

He partnered me in the
pas de deux
and I executed all the steps with ease. His touch was gentle and kind, yet at times possessive and forceful. He placed his strong hands on my thighs, then glided them up to my waist. I had never danced so many flawless
pirouettes
, with his hold guiding me.

But it was only a dream. I awoke the next morning on his sofa.

“Nieves, thank God you are okay. I knew I shouldn’t have given you wine when you probably don’t have a tolerance. You passed out.” He poured me a cup of coffee.

I took a sip of the coffee, my head pounding. “I had the craziest dream. We were dancing together. Snow King and Queen. And all the missing dancers were there also.”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I would give anything to dance again—especially with you as my partner. But those days are long gone and I doubt I will ever dance again without a miracle. Come, you must get ready for class. We can try rehearsing again tomorrow.”

I finished my coffee and gathered my coat, rushing to leave. What a fool I had made of myself! Squandering the opportunity of a lifetime to get free training from one of the top dancers. Instead, I had passed out like a lightweight. Mikhail must’ve thought I was so immature.

Mikhail walked me out of his house and hailed a taxi. When it arrived, he gave me a kiss on the lips. I stuffed myself into the cab, trying to replay last night in my mind. The arch of my foot was throbbing, as if I had danced all night. But I hadn’t been
en pointe
for more than fifteen minutes. The only other dancing I had done yesterday besides morning class was in rehearsal and we had only marked the choreography.

Reaching into my bag, I grabbed my tape and wrapped my ankle. Something caught my eye—the sole of my right pointe shoe seemed lumpy. My fingers traced the sole and I discovered a tiny piece of paper was tucked into the lining of my pointe shoe. I pulled it out and read it—“Help us!”

Who had written that? Mikhail had only given me the slippers last night. Maybe Mikhail’s personal cobbler had a wicked sense of humor?

I put the paper in my wallet. The cab pulled up in front of the studio. Reporters congregated outside, and cameramen were setting up their equipment.

I walked over to Evan, who was standing next to Chantal. “What’s going on?”

Evan took a drag on a cigarette, which was super odd, since I’d never seen him smoke. “They found Svetlana’s body. She was washed up on the banks of the Charles River—wearing her pointe shoes.”

My bag hit the icy ground with a thud. I had just seen her in my dreams and she had seemed so real. Was it one of those supernatural visits from the dead? Maybe she was a ghost and trying to tell me something about her killer? I didn’t believe in all that nonsense but I couldn’t explain that I felt like she was trying to warn me about something. Probably not to perform in the ballet.

Maybe
The Nutcracker
was cursed. Ever since I’d been cast, my world had shifted. I was destined to be Snow Queen and nothing was going to stop me from dancing in
The Nutcracker
on Christmas Eve.

Act I Scene VII

A week had passed since they discovered Svetlana’s body. The tabloids had a field day with the news: “The Death of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” “Corpse de Ballet”, and “There’s a Nut(cracker) on the Loose.” An autopsy had been performed and it was determined that she had drowned, and the toxicology report came back clean. What was truly baffling was that despite her being missing for the past five years, the coroner determined that she had only been dead for less than four hours when her body was found.

Where had Svetlana been for the past five years? Had she been hiding out somewhere in Boston? It made absolutely no sense. Everyone had been looking for her: the police, the public, I mean hell—she’d even been featured on
Nancy Grace
. If Svetlana had been in New England for the last five years, someone somewhere would have noticed her.

I’d had many late night rehearsals at the ballet and hadn’t seen Mikhail since that night. Especially since the police were stalking his every move because he had once been engaged to Svetlana. I had to give a sworn statement that I was with him the entire night before her body was discovered, which was the God’s honest truth. Thank God I had been with him or he wouldn’t have had an alibi. I’d been in his arms all night—though I definitely didn’t mention that I’d passed out in his place. Nor a word about my crazy dream that Svetlana was in. I didn’t want the police to think I was some nut job.

But I needed to see him. He hadn’t returned any of my texts or phone calls. I was sure he was just distraught about Svetlana.

Snow covered the ground. Svetlana’s discovery had put a damper on Cambridge’s Christmas spirit. Though garlands, mistletoe, and ornaments were all threaded around Harvard Square, the lights decorating the trees all seemed a little less bright than they had in the past years. The faint smell of ginger from the two gingerbread lattes I carried even did little to ease the rumbling in my stomach.

I buzzed Mikhail’s door. When he didn’t answer me, I began pounding on the window.

“Misha, please, let me in.”

The door opened. Mikhail didn’t say a word. He had no shirt on and was wearing pajama bottoms. Sporting a full beard, he looked more like a Navy SEAL than a former ballet dancer—which I found irresistible.

The room reeked like vodka and cigarettes. Heat radiated from the old school furnaces.

I handed him a latte. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was my fault. Once I tore my ankle up, I went crazy. I was horrible to Sveta. I drank, cheated. Blamed her for my injury because she convinced me to dance as Dracula. I never wanted to take the role. I drove her away and then she vanished. And now she’s dead.”

I placed my latte on the entry table and hugged him. “No one blames you. You were depressed. You’d lost your identity. But you’ve reinvented yourself. I wish Sveta could see what you became. She’d be proud of you.”

He turned away from me. “Nieves, leave. You shouldn’t be here. I’ll just destroy you. I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met that has been interested in me for who I am, not for what I can do for you. Once I lost my talent, everyone abandoned me. But not you. I’m no good for you.” 

My heart broke hearing about his pain and guilt. I’d never imagined how lonely he must’ve been. I took his hand. “I love you, Misha.”

He pulled me onto the chair. I straddled him, pressing my hips down on his lap. The years of longing were about to come to an end.

His eyes lit up and I saw an intensity in them that I had only seen in old videos of him dancing. “I’m not who you think I am. The dancer you fell in love with when you were a little girl died years ago.”

If that was his attempt at dissuading me it was having the opposite effect. I didn’t pity him like he might’ve thought. I worshipped him, for reinventing his life and becoming a dance critic. For moving on after Svetlana left him and then disappeared. But most of all, for believing that I could become a prima ballerina before I had believed in it myself.

I took his face in my hands and kissed his lips. He came alive underneath me. His hands caressed me while his tongue explored my mouth. His warm, moist kisses ignited a fire in my body. This beautiful man had been the object of my fantasies for years.

His blue gaze pierced through me. “You’re too good for me. I will destroy you.”

“I’ve wanted you since the day you signed my slippers. Even before then. I won’t abandon you, Misha. I’m not like her.”

Apparently those words did the trick. Mikhail scooped me up and laid me in front of the fireplace. I expected him to ravish me, but instead he savored every touch, every kiss. I’m sure he could sense that it was my first time, and that I’d been waiting to be with him for years. I wasn’t in any hurry.

He pulled off my top, and slowly explored my body with his hands. His years of training had given him a lean but muscular body and I marveled at his strength. He hovered on top of my body, supported by his arm and I felt like we were dancing in Mozart’s Petite Mort. My body writhed under his, completely wet with anticipation.

He undressed me, pausing to study the curves of my body. I tried to dominate him, to take some semblance of control, but he would just smile and flip me back over and have his way with me—not that I was complaining. He licked my neck, my breasts, and my nipples, as his fingers traced down my thighs. I let out a moan when the tips of his fingers penetrated me, dancing in between my panties and my warmth.

Just when I thought I was going to scream in pleasure, he stopped. “This isn’t right. You are too young. You should date someone your own age, like even Evan.” He studied my eyes.

My lips quivered. “I don’t want Evan—he’s just a boy. I want you. Only you. I’ve never been with anyone—I want you to be my first, and only.”

His jaw dropped and his mouth widened into a smile. He kissed me softly on the lips. “I love you too, Nieves. My Snow Queen. But you must promise never to leave me. I couldn’t bear ever losing you. Watching you dance over these last years, following your career, living through your steps, has been the only thing that has kept me going. If we commit to each other and you vanish, I could never go on.”

My pulse raced. “I promise.”

My words elicited a frenzied response from him. He took my panties off and dove in between my legs, licking, sucking, teasing me.

“Misha, I—” My breath shortened, my heart pounded. I’d never experienced anything close to this pleasure. Throbbing, fluttering, melting from his touch, his tongue, his mouth.

“Come for me, Nieves.”

Pleasure exploded through my body. Once, twice. I screamed for him. No one had ever made me feel like he had. No one had ever made me dance like he had. I was addicted.

I collapsed on the rug. He pulled me to him, and I curled up in his arms.

Though I was satisfied, I wanted more. I wanted to give him pleasure, take away his pain. I wanted to feel him inside me. If our bodies couldn’t become one on the stage, then at least we could dance together in the bedroom. “I want to please you. Teach me how.”

He stroked my hair. “Not tonight, babe. I want you to save your energy for opening night. After closing night, you will truly be mine.”

What a selfless man. He truly adored me and wanted nothing but to pleasure me and nurture me in return. How had I lucked out?

I cuddled up next to him and we fell asleep.

We woke the next morning, our bodies still entwined. But like the last time I spent the night at his house, I’d slept restlessly. And the nightmare had returned.

This time, I was in a small cottage, with a wood-burning fireplace. Snow covered the ground outside and I was sobbing. The walls were bare and I didn’t have a telephone, a television or a computer. But my Snow Queen costume was hanging on the door.

I rolled out of bed, careful not to wake sleeping Mikhail. The radiant heated floor warmed my feet and I tiptoed into the bathroom. I touched the back of my neck, and felt a drop of blood, which wasn’t shocking because Mikhail and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other last night. I slid into the shower, and turned on the hot water.

Was I his girlfriend now? How would our relationship affect my career? Surely with his influence and guidance I would now get a contract in the Cambridge Ballet.

As I lathered up my body, I thought I heard Mikhail wake. Maybe he’d jump in with me. I rinsed the suds off and heard footsteps.

“Morning, love.” Mikhail opened the shower door and embraced me.

He began kissing my breasts and licking my stomach. The steam from the shower fogged up the glass. I couldn’t wait until closing night—I wanted to feel him inside of me right then. But when the steam faded, I could see my neck in the reflection of the mirror. The words, “Help Us” had been etched into my neck.

I pushed Mikhail off me and covered my neck with my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing, my throat hurts. That’s all. I just hope I’m not getting sick.” I opened the shower door. 

He followed me out. “I’ll make you some tea.”

When he turned the corner, I quickly got dressed and wrapped my scarf around my throat. Those scratches hadn’t been there last night. Who was asking for help? Was this connected to the Nutcracker disappearances? Or Svetlana’s murder? Was Mikhail involved?

Mikhail appeared with a cup of tea. “Nieves, you’ve made me happier than I thought was possible. When I was a star, everyone always wanted something from me. But I know you love me for who I am and you don’t care that my body is lame.” He paused and I leaned into him. “After the finale, will you go away with me?”

“I’d go anywhere with you.”

Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mikhail held the key to the mystery of the Nutcracker disappearances and I was close to figuring out for certain what had been haunting America’s beloved ballet.

I knew what I was doing with Mikhail was right. My relationship with him had changed, and now for the first time since I could remember, I saw a world beyond the stage lights and the
barre
. I wanted to make a life with Mikhail. And I was prepared to sacrifice anything to be with him.

I covered up the back of my neck with the collar of my jacket. I had to get to the studio—I had the performance of a lifetime to focus on.

Act II Scene I

The theater was surrounded by Boston’s Finest, FBI and a SWAT team. Every local and national news affiliate had reporters and cameramen camped outside. It was closing night of
The Nutcracker
. And now that Svetlana’s body had been found and the disappearances had been upgraded to possible homicides, no one was taking any chances on another dancer vanishing.