Three nights later, sometime after midnight, Ivona started screaming so loudly that Vanna awoke from a deep sleep. She hurried to her door and twisted the knob. But the door remained locked, and she no longer had a nail file to pick the lock. Ivona’s screams intensified and were interspersed with curse words in both English and Russian. She was in labor.
Finally, she heard the thud of feet on the stairs, and Zoya’s voice, speaking urgently to someone. The smelly guard, probably. Metallic clinks followed as someone fumbled with the key. The door squeaked open, and Zoya shouted in Russian. Ivona yelled back and the two of them went at it, back and forth. Then Zoya thumped back out into the hall. She started muttering. Vanna leaned her ear against the door. Zoya was making a call on her cell, she thought. But with Ivona’s screams and the guard, who was now yelling as well, it was hard to be sure.
A few minutes later Zoya’s voice could be heard, now calm and quiet, talking to the guard. Vanna heard a grunt—the guard? Footsteps shuffled. Ivona’s screams reached a fevered pitch, but they seemed rent with something new. Despair, Vanna thought, and deep sorrow. Vanna heard the guard hustle Ivona down the stairs and out the door, but her cries reverberated through the house. Where were they taking her? For a moment there was a lull. Then Vanna heard another blood-curdling shriek, followed by heavy silence.