Chapter 41 FORTY-ONE
Chapter 41 FORTY-ONE
“Boss… boss.. Boss…”
“How dare y—”
“Boss, I swear I didn’t mean to…”
“I didn’t tell you to—”
“I didn’t mean to…”
The exchange continued longer than it should have while I sat perked up, my eyes wide and staring at the door. Any sense of sadness I’d felt earlier was immediately turned into confusion. Until the sound of begging and groveling and negotiation was silenced by a big bang that left me shaking.
And then…. Silence.
Nothing.
I could hear the sound of the freezer humming in the open-plan kitchen.
And even the sound of the air conditioning.
But nothing other than that.
No sound of arguing, or Sergei asking questions, or the guard begging. A body slumped to the ground a few seconds too late with a muffled thud, and then the door swung open to reveal Sergei standing there at the threshold, blood staining the sneakers he had on.
“An-ya…” He rasped.
His eyes were red-rimmed, blinking too hard to stay still, a gun in one of his hands while the other—the one that had our ring—gripped the door frame, struggling to stand still.
“An… ya….”
I breathed through my mouth, still disoriented. “Yes? Yes?”
He almost slumped to the ground, his hand slipping off the frame. “Ta-ke… take me with you, please.”
I blinked rapidly. “Where? Where?”
His hand slipped a second time. This time, I didn’t wait before I acted. I rushed to my feet, bracing myself for his weight as he slumped onto my shoulder. I almost went down with him as he tried to steady himself. “Moroz… you need to tell me what’s…”
“Take me with you.”
“Where?”
“Take me with you…”
He groaned, almost giving out to the floor immediately. While I could see the other guard behind him, crouching over the floor, I didn’t want to look at what he was doing. I didn’t wait even one second. I breathed through my mouth as I walked down the hallway with a limp Morozov to my room at the other end of the house. He was going to sleep. His breath was starting to steady from the deathly gasp I’d heard earlier, and now, all that remained was the tremble.
I threw my door open, my eyes burning, struggling, just struggling, as I stumbled to the bed with him. “Okay… you need to help me… you need to…”
He slouched into the bed, the gun clattering to the floor as he pulled a pillow to shield his face from the sunlight pouring in. I didn’t wait to be told what to do; I was immediately darting toward the door when I stopped. Sergei’s hand was around my wrist, holding me from leaving. I didn’t know how to react to this. To… all of this. To stand here. Or to give him time alone. But he wasn’t giving me time to think; before I could even ask the question on the tip of my tongue, he yanked me closer, and I slumped against his chest with a grunt.
“Sergei… I don’t think…”
“Stay…”
“I think…. I think I should give you time…”
“No.. stay with me…”
“Look. You don’t look so fine. I don’t want to be here, breathing down your neck… I don’t know what’s happening, but… I don’t want to be a bother… I don’t know, Sergei… this.. this scares me… everything… everything scares me…. the least I want to do is—”
He flipped the pillow off his face, and now he was looking at me through those red-rimmed eyes, barely staying open. One word. “STAY!” And I knew I had no choice. But this wasn’t coercion. I could have been out that door in any second if I wanted to. I could have taken this opportunity to kill him if I wanted to. But I didn’t. I climbed into the bed after him. Shoes and all. And laid next to him. Beneath the pillow. It was dark under here. And all I could feel was him. My body pressed against the front of his chest. And my forehead against his. We shared a breath with his arm tightly around my waist.
“I–”
“Just…. Stay here, Anya… and don’t ask questions… for once.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Not until he added a: “Please….”
And there was silence for a few minutes—just me and him sharing a breath, just his arm around my waist, just me being his little comfort, until in that very minute when the silence was shattered by the sound of his phone ringing, ruining whatever solitude this was starting to feel like.
I reached for his pocket.
He didn’t resist.
He couldn’t resist if he was starting to fall asleep.
At first, the pocket was too tight to get the phone out, but then it continued to ring endlessly while I fished for it.
And immediately I ripped it out of that pocket? I wish I hadn’t.
The name flashing over the screen was Cheryl—of course—the Cheryl whose name I'd heard a million times without ever laying my eyes on her. I didn’t know what this woman looked like, I didn’t know who the fuck she was, but I knew one thing, and it was that she had a very strong hold on Sergei. I was trying not to move too much, head out of the pillow now, thumb hovering over the screen as I contemplated hard if I should be taking the call or not.
And after a long time, I did the former.
“Hello, Sergei is—”
She didn’t even let me finish. Maybe she hadn’t heard the difference in the tone of voice between Sergei’s or mine, but the next words she said slammed the air right out of my lungs and almost sent me slumping backward into the mattress.
“The entire house smelled like corpses… and blood…. The woman… she was dead by the time I walked into that house. Jesus Christ! Her throat was slit open, and she’d died by the stairs. Someone had to have gotten to her first… Marino must have known that she helped us find her husband…. Sergei… Sergei? Can you hear me? Are you there? Are you listening?
Diane Vescovi is dead. DEAD..”