Chapter Thirty-Two: Interrogation

(E Pluribus Unum, Pt. 3)

***

Valerie didn't know how long she was in that Russian cell.

Her mind still felt fuzzy after she'd been knocked unconscious by the Russian gun—Valerie knew she definitely had a bruise there—and her sense of time had already been broken when they'd fallen down here via the elevator, so being knocked unconscious and waking up in this cell only worsened it.

But the first thing she noticed when she had woken up was that she was alone—Robin and Steve were nowhere in sight. And the second thing she registered was that her hands were bound, black straps restraining her hands so tight they chafed against the skin of her wrists. The fact she was restrained had sent a spike of fear through Valerie, had her remember her parents' constant warnings about walking in New York alone to her and Cami, the news reports she'd seen on TV of serial killers taking, restraining and murdering women.

Valerie didn't know which situation was worse—the metaphorical situation of her being a victim of a serial killer, or the very real situation of her being a prisoner of the Russians, awaiting torture and interrogation. Both were very terrifying.

At least Rowan, Erica and Dustin escaped, Valerie thought. That was the only consolation—that the three of them had escaped, that they could get back to the elevator and get help, whether from the police chief or someone else. That apparently Rowan had gotten away—Valerie knew she didn't imagine that look of relief on Steve's face before everything went dark, that Rowan had gotten away and the Russians wouldn't know whatever secrets she was hiding. But it paled in hope that the three could get help.

Until they did, Valerie—and Robin and Steve, wherever they were and Valerie hoped they were okay, she hoped Robin was okay, the thought of the Russians hurting them, hurting Robin, had something cold enter her at the thought of Robin being hurt—had to keep from saying anything. They couldn't let the Russians break them.

More importantly, Valerie couldn't let the Russians break her—or her plan.

She had to stick to her plan, it was the only way she thought she might get out of this alive, to see her parents and her hermanita again when help arrived, Valerie just had to stick to the plan.

A noise came and Valerie's head lurched up, seeing two Russians enter—one with a stern face and wearing a hat that told Valerie he must be someone high-ranking, and the other that had hands that Valerie knew in some deep part of her were meant for breaking bones.

"Nice sleep?" the high-ranking Russian asked as Valerie stared, mustering all her acting skills into appearing groggy, like she'd just woken up. "Now, tell me and be honest, and this will be less painful and have your pretty face intact. Who do you work for?"

Valerie swallowed down her revulsion at the comment, knowing this was it. She had to implement her plan now.

So, summoning up all her acting skills, Valerie adopted a confused expression and asked in an accent she'd learned to get rid of but never really did, "¿Qué?"

Now the Russians were confused, staring at each other, not expecting Valerie to react like that—not expecting one of their prisoners to be bilingual and her first language being Spanish, not English, and having the plan of suddenly not understanding a single word of English. The Puerto Rican accent that Valerie had to get rid of through childhood but she knew she never really got rid of helped, too.

Still, Valerie had to fight back a smirk and keep looking confused and scared—the latter was easy to show—as she looked at the Russians guile-eyed, thinking, You're not the only bilingual ones here, you los hijos de puta.

The high-ranking Russian talked in Russian, before he turned to her and said, "Enough of what you just said. Tell me—who do you work for?"

Valerie blinked, her face a masterpiece of confusion and fear—she should win an Oscar for her acting skills—as she said, "¿Qué? No te entiendo."

The Russian glowered at her, lip curling at how his interrogation wasn't working.

"Cease that or we'll have to start breaking you," the Russian threatened. "Now, who do you work for!?"

Valerie's eyes only widened, letting the fear bleed through more as she said in a ramble of panic that wasn't entirely feigned, "¡No te entiendo! ¿Estás hablando inglés? ¡No sé inglés! ¿Qué pasa? ¿Dónde estoy? ¿Qué dices?"

The Russians blinked at her, and Valerie asked again, "¿Qué dices? ¿Qué pasa?"

The trembling note in her voice had Valerie almost break her mask to smile. She definitely deserved an award for her acting skills here, as the Russians were thoroughly confused—maybe wondering if she truly was worth interrogating if she couldn't understand English.

That was fine. But Valerie knew this was only protecting her—Robin and Steve didn't have that protection. And soon, the Russians would give up and move onto them.

But that was okay. If the Russians wanted to torture her, that was okay. As much as that scared Valerie to the bone, that was okay. As long as neither Steve or Robin were tortured.

She just had to remember to not speak English, no matter how much it hurt. She had to keep speaking Spanish, she had to keep speaking Spanish...

The high-ranking Russian's mouth twisted in anger and he gave a curt nod to the other Russian.

A hand slammed into Valerie's face and she choked on her spit, pain ricocheting through her entire face. Tears brimmed her eyes as she looked up, her chest rising up and down rapidly as the Russian stepped back, shaking his hand out as the high-ranking Russian leaned in front of her and hissed, "I hope that was a lesson for you. Now, enough of whatever game you're playing. Who do you work for?"

Blinking away the tears, Valerie stammered out, "Yo... No puedoe entenderte. Lo siento. ¿Qué pasa? ¿Por qué me lastimaste? Por favor, no puedo entenderte. ¡No hablo inglés!" 

The high-ranking Russian glared at her, before nodding at the other. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head up, looking into her fear-stricken eyes, and punched her in the gut.

Valerie wheezed out a harsh breath, choking on air, as she managed to gasp out, "Detente, por favor. No sé lo que estás diciendo." 

"Enough games! Who do you work for?"

Another backhand to her face.

"Por favor, deténgase. ¡No hablo inglés!" 

"Who do you work for?!"

Another punch to her gut.

"Por favor, no te entiendo. No puedo hablar inglés. ¡¿Por qué no te detienes?! ¡No puedo hablar inglés!" 

"Who do you work for!?"

A third backhand, so hard Valerie thought she tasted blood.

"¡DETENTE, POR FAVOR! ¡NO TE ENTIENDO! ¡NO PUEDO HABLAR INGLÉS! ¿QUÉ DEMONIOS ESTÁS PASANDO? ¡POR FAVOR, DETENTE! ¡POR FAVOR!" 

"Enough!"

Valerie gasped sharply as the man stepped away, the curly-haired girl hunching over as pain roared through her, the high-ranking Russian leaning down, a sneer on his face.

"You're not easy to break, suka," he snarled, and something in Valerie curled in fear at seeing the admiration in his eyes. "Whoever trained you... they trained you well. But I can see you are not the one to break."

Then he grinned, and that made Valerie's fear go up higher.

"Maybe your friends would be easier to break."

He stood up, giving a sharp command in Russian and they stepped out. The minute the door closed, that she was certain the Russians wouldn't be able to hear her, Valerie's confusion dropped into a glare as she hissed, "They won't, you los hijos de puta."

She tried to ignore the tremor in her voice as she whispered, "They won't."

Valerie could only hope that would be true.

***

Valerie didn't know how long the Russians had left her to interrogate and torture Robin and Steve. It could have been minutes or hours. And as she waited in that cell, all Valerie could focus on was the aching pain in her gut and face. The fact that despite the pain, she hadn't broken. Her plan hadn't been destroyed, and Valerie told herself she had to keep to the plan.

Just keep speaking Spanish, Valerie told herself. Just keep speaking Spanish.

But more than anything, she felt fear—for herself, for Steve, for Robin. For what the Russians could be doing to them. They had to be okay, they had to be.

Valerie couldn't think of a situation where they weren't.

And she hoped—she hoped this wouldn't be long, she hoped Rowan, Erica and Dustin had gotten out and gotten help, she hoped that help was coming soon, she goddamned hoped.

She hoped.

And as Valerie waited, she tried to work on undoing her binds, grounding her teeth as she wriggled and shifted her wrists, trying to find any give, anything that could have her break it or undo it. But nothing—if she could give the Russians one thing, they knew how to tie up prisoners.

So now she just waited, and hoped help would come before the Russians returned.

The door cracked open and Valerie remembered to school her face into confusion as two uniformed Russians entered, hauling her up.

Valerie thrashed, yelling, "¿A dónde me llevas? ¿Qué pasa? ¡Soltarme! ¿¡A dónde me llevas!?"

The Russians didn't answer, instead leading her down a corridor as Valerie writhed and thrashed in their grip, screaming the questions repeatedly, hardly registering the pain of the blows to her gut and to her face she'd received, desperate to escape. But the Russians' grips were like steel, hard enough that Valerie could feel bruises forming. 

They came to a door and one Russian opened it and tossed her into the room, Valerie whirling around, screaming, "¿Dónde estoy? ¿A dónde me llevaste? ¿¡DÓNDE ESTOY!?"

The Russians didn't answer—not like they could, since they didn't speak Spanish—and Valerie glared at them, yelling, "Bastardos, ¿a dónde me llevaron?"

No answer as the door closed and Valerie looked around, seeing three chairs, two stainless steel tables with what appeared to be medical instruments on them—or maybe instruments of torture. Valerie's fear ratcheted up.

The door opened and Valerie turned, and her eyes widened in shock and terror when she saw two Russians enter, an unconscious Steve in their arms. 

His face... Dios mío, his face, Valerie thought in horror as she stared at the bloody and bruised wreck of Steve's face before they tossed him to the floor.

The door Valerie had come through opened, revealing Robin struggling in the hands of the Russians as she yelled, "Get your hands off me!"

They tossed her to the ground, where Robin immediately noticed Steve and Valerie.

"Hey, Steve? Steve? Steve?" Robin murmured, shaking him before she looked at Valerie, new panic entering her face. "Valerie! Are you okay? Oh God, your face. What did they do to you?"

Despite her horror at Steve's face, at her urge to talk to Robin, Valerie could only shake her hand and say, "Lo siento, no puedo entenderte."

Robin's eyes widened, understanding what Valerie said—and hopefully getting why Valerie was pretending she couldn't speak or understand English—before she shook Steve again, Valerie doing the same, before she looked up and demanded, "What did you do to him? What did you do!?"

The Russians didn't answer. Instead, the high-ranking Russian backhanded Robin and it made Valerie want to leap up and strangle him, before the Russians wrenched Robin up and it was all Valerie could do from again breaking character and lunge for the Russians and claw their faces off—especially with how much Robin hated sudden contact—affirmed when Valerie heard Robin say, "Don't touch me!" before they put her in a chair and then grabbed Valerie, picking her up roughly as she thrashed, Robin growling, "Don't you touch her! Don't you dare touch her!"

The Russians sat her down in one of the chairs before they picked up Steve just as roughly as they did Robin and Valerie, and something sharp and molten burned in her at that. They sat Steve down, Robin asking to him, "Steve, wake up. Steve?", before they bound them together with more of those black binds, tight enough that they couldn't wriggle free. Still Valerie thrashed as much as she could, letting her face be twisted with confusion, panic and anger and Robin demanded, "What did you do?!"

None of the Russians answered, as instead the high-ranking Russian who'd tried to interrogate Valerie picked up Steve's head from the corner of Valerie's eye.

"Don't touch him," Robin snarled and Valerie glared at the Russian, yelling, "¡Déjalo ir hijo de puta!"

The Russian ignored them, but he did let Steve go, as Robin asked, "Steve? Steve, can you hear me?"

The high-ranking Russian wiped  his hands as he noted, "I think your friend needs a doctor."

He stood in front of a glaring Robin, as he grinned and said, "Good thing... we have the very best."

He leaned in front of Robin and laughed, the Russians laughing with him, as Robin glared at him before spitting at him. It was all Valerie could do to keep from smirking.

The Russian only wiped the spit away, snarling, "You're going to regret that, suka. Just like your little friend is going to regret not complying with our interrogation."

He straightened as he and his fellow Russians left, closing the door as Robin shouted, "Bastards. Let us outta here. Bastards! Let us out! Let us out!"

With the door closed, Valerie's expression dropped and she hissed, "Robin, ¿se han ido?"

"What? Valerie, why are you—" Robin started, but Valerie hurriedly yelled, "Robin! ¿¡Se han ido los rusos!?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah they are," Robin answered.

"Bueno," Valerie whispered, sighing before she said in English, "Sorry, I just wanted to make sure."

"Why?" Robin asked back.

"It's my plan I told you—I pretend I can't speak or understand a single word of English if I'm interrogated by the Russians," Valerie explained, trying to look over to Robin as much as she could.

Robin was quiet, before she huffed out a laugh. "Oh my God. That's brilliant."

"Yeah, I know," Valerie said, grinning. "These los hijos de puta aren't the only bilingual motherfuckers here."

"No, they aren't," Robin agreed.

Things went quiet, before Valerie asked, "God, Robin. Steve, his face... do you think he's gonna wake up?"

"I... I-I don't know," Robin stammered back. A pause, before she asked, "Do you think we might get help before the Russians come back?"

"Hopefully. Hopefully Dustin, the twerp and Rowan are in that elevator and getting it," Valerie muttered. 

"What if they don't? What if—"

"We can't think like that. They will. Help might be coming right now."

Robin chuckled. "I thought you weren't the positive one."

"Better to try and be positive than to spiral into panic."

Robin chuckled again and Valerie smiled, her heart finding joy in Robin's laugh—at how it was still the best sound she ever heard. But even that joy faded when the terror of being trapped in a Russian base—at how they could be tortured, at how Valerie had been backhanded and punched in the gut in her "interrogation" but it was nothing compared to the torture Steve had gone through, torture that had left him unconscious—came flooding back, especially if whatever the Russians planned did break Valerie, and her plan.

If help didn't come...

"If... if help doesn't come... we need to find a way out, Robin," Valerie murmured, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

"Yeah, we do," Robin murmured, her voice quavering as well. "Do you see anything that could help?"

Valerie looked around before her eyes landed on the table.

"Over there, Robin. There's scissors," Valerie whispered.

Robin looked, and she let out a disbelieving laugh. "They left scissors?"

"Yeah, I know. They're loco," Valerie murmured, grinning.

Robin laughed, before she said, "We can't get to it without Steve. Do you think we should call for help?"

"You'll have to do it—I don't want the Russians to find out I can magically speak English again," Valerie muttered.

"Got it," Robin murmured. She paused before saying, "Just have to say, if I had to be trapped by evil Russians in a secret Russian base... I'm glad it was with you."

Valerie's heart swooped as everything in her tingled with happiness, with something more. 

"Me too," she murmured. "And Steve."

"And Steve," Robin agreed.

The two girls chuckled, before Valerie wriggled her hand to brush her fingers against Robin's. The way Robin's brushed hers back told Valerie she received it.

"I mean, we have to get out—we have an operation to do," Valerie said.

"We do," Robin agreed, and Valerie could hear the smile in Robin's voice.

Valerie smiled as well, before Robin tilted her head up and shouted at the top of her lungs, "HELP!"

Valerie hoped someone friendly—someone Rowan, Dustin and Erica had brought—could hear her. Otherwise they had to find a way out themselves.

***

Yeah, this chapter... this chapter was a lot

And you now know Valerie's plan—pretend to not speak or understand English if she was caught and interrogated by the Russians! Honestly, I feel like any character who was bilingual and their first language wasn't English was captured by the Russians, they'd probably do this. And yeah, Valerie didn't break—for now (and yes, it did hurt me to have the Russian punch and backhand her :( )

And the trio are reunited! And Robin and Valerie had some soft moments while being protective over Steve! I love Robin and Valerie so much 🥺 And don't worry girls, help is coming soon...

Next chapter will be back with the Party!

Spanish translations:

Hermanita: Little sister

¿Qué?: What?

Los hijos de puta: Sons of bitches

¿Qué? No te entiendo: What? I don't understand you

¡No te entiendo! ¿Estás hablando inglés? ¡No sé inglés! ¿Qué pasa? ¿Dónde estoy? ¿Qué dices?: I don't understand you! Are you speaking English? I don't speak English! What's going on? What are you saying?

Yo... No puedoe entenderte. Lo siento. ¿Qué pasa? ¿Por qué me lastimaste? Por favor, no puedo entenderte. ¡No hablo inglés!: I... I can't understand you. I'm sorry. What's going on? Why did you hurt me? Please, I can't understand you. I don't speak English!

Detente, por favor. No sé lo que estás diciendo: Stop, please. I don't know what you're saying

Por favor, deténgase. ¡No hablo inglés!: Please, stop. I don't speak English!

Por favor, no te entiendo. No puedo hablar inglés. ¡¿Por qué no te detienes?! ¡No puedo hablar inglés!: Please, I don't understand you. I can't speak English. Why aren't you stopping?! I can't speak English!

¡DETENTE, POR FAVOR! ¡NO TE ENTIENDO! ¡NO PUEDO HABLAR INGLÉS! ¿QUÉ DEMONIOS ESTÁS PASANDO? ¡POR FAVOR, DETENTE! ¡POR FAVOR!: STOP, PLEASE! I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU! I CAN'T SPEAK ENGLISH! WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON? PLEASE, STOP! PLEASE!

¿A dónde me llevas? ¿Qué pasa? ¡Soltarme! ¿¡A dónde me llevas!?: Where are you taking me? What's going on? Let me go! Where are you taking me!?

¿Dónde estoy? ¿A dónde me llevaste? ¿¡DÓNDE ESTOY!?: Where am I? Where did you take me? WHERE AM I?!

Bastardos: You bastards

Dios mio: Oh my God

Lo siento, no puedo entenderte: I'm sorry, I don't understand you

¡Déjalo ir hijo de puta!: Let him go you son of a bitch!

¿Se han ido?: Are they gone?

¿¡Se han ido los rusos!?: Are the Russians gone?!

Bueno: Good

Loco: Insane

Please read, comment and vote!

GhostWriterGirl out!