The biting Russian cold welcomed her as she stepped off the plane, a fleeting mist forming in the frigid air as she breathed out in nervousness.
It clung to her senses, contrasting the warmth of Texas where her family was. Seraphina thought that leaving behind the suffocating struggles would ease her stress, but it only seemed to fuel her anxiety more. She still didn't know what she was doing there or how she ended up in Russia. Her only answer was the scholarship letter and three hundred dollars that she exchanged at the airport earlier.
Though she was told that the scholarship included her tuition fee and dorm, she still had to pay for yearly semester fees and living expenses.
A sigh left her lips with mist as she dragged the luggage to the exit. The paper in her hand was wrinkled as she read the address written on it: Star Square-lane 25-building 56. Seraphina wondered how far it was. She could only spend a limited amount on fare. Pushing her hands into the long coat her aunt gifted her last Christmas, her fingers unconsciously rubbed on the money.
Her heart raced as she clutched the strap of her worn backpack, filled with nervousness and the weight of her mother's expectations. The subtle cut of anxiety added another layer to her already-storming emotions. It was her first time visiting a foreign land all alone without her mother. But this time, she had to. Her mother was the one who convinced her to take the scholarship test at Moscow University, and even though she was ready to fail, fortunately, she somehow got in. It was a startling surprise for both of them. She had two days to pack her stuff and leave for Russia. Her mother borrowed some money from her boss, and despite her refusal, she insisted on buying her woollen scarves and coats.
A small curve formed on her lips as she looked down at the maroon scarf. It was a handmade-limited edition, she might say since her mother knitted it herself in two days. All this made her reason for coming here more valid. It was just a matter of two years. To pay back all the debt and loans they owed, she had to become the responsible daughter. For how long would her mother suffer? She wanted her to rest now. To give her a peaceful life, where she didn't have to worry about anything. Her purpose was to graduate and get a decent job.
As she crossed the unfamiliar streets, the chill seeped through her coat. The receptionist said she'd find the cabs on the other side of the street. Crossing the pedestrian, she found the cab stand.
"Can you take me to this address?" she asked, grateful for the Russian lessons she took in her undergraduate course. Though her knowledge of the language was limited, she knew few basic sentences.
The man with a gruff beard and a big fleece jacket looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing at the address. "It's far from here," he said in his thick Russian accent. Far? How far? The receptionist said it would take her only twenty minutes to ride.
"How much then?" she inquired fidgeting with her hands as her hold on the straps tightened.
The man casually dragged in the cigarette and blew it in the air.
"7890 roubles," he stated bluntly. Her eyes widened. 7890? It was almost ninety dollars. She would be left with two hundred and ten dollars. How would she survive without money?
"How about 6000?" she pleaded with her eyes. Even one dollar meant so much in times like this. The man looked sceptically at her for a moment, studying her. He must have figured out she was a foreigner.
"Hmm... 7000. No more, no less," he finally agreed.
She sighed. Here went her negotiation skills.
"All right," she conceded with a sigh. He put her luggage in the trunk, and she got in. The insides were warmer than the outside as she settled in. Her legs ached as she tried to stretch them. The driver rounded the cab before turning the radio on.
"В условиях бурного времени для высокопоставленных российских чиновников и бизнесменов, последствия конфликта на Украине и продолжающиеся экономические санкции создали мрачную атмосферу. По меньшей мере 15 российских бизнесменов и руководителей умерли при загадочных обстоятельствах, вызывая подозрения за пределами обычной случайности." The reporter said. Despite the restricted familiarity of the language, Seraphina caught on few words. 15 Russian business men have died under suspicious circumstances.
She prayed for their souls to rest in peace in her heart.
("In the turbulent times for high-ranking Russian officials and businessmen, the consequences of the conflict in Ukraine and ongoing economic sanctions have created a grim atmosphere. At least 15 Russian businessmen and executives have died under mysterious circumstances, raising suspicions beyond mere coincidence.")
"Таинственные обстоятельства, моя попа." The driver grumbled taking a turn. Sera sighed, focusing on the buildings outside as the news kept playing in the background. She peered out of the taxi window, the lights of Moscow shining brightly. A nervousness gripped her. She was already missing Texas's warmth. The tall buildings looked like giants reaching for the sky, unlike the small cosy houses she was used to living in. Cars rushed by, and people hurried along the sidewalks.
(Mysterious circumstances, my butt.)
While the city seemed lively and exciting, the radio in the background told a different story.
"Среди жертв – известные личности из Gazprom, Novatek и Lukoil, среди прочих. Причины смерти варьируются от инсультов до отвратительных инцидентов, таких как смерть от ядовитой слизи лягушки. Многие эксперты, включая Станислава Тейлора и Брайана Волкова, сомневаются в официальных объяснениях о самоубийствах или плохом здоровье, намекая на нечто более зловещее."
("Among the victims are well-known figures from Gazprom, Novatek, and Lukoil, among others. The causes of death vary from strokes to gruesome incidents, such as death from the poisonous slime of a frog. Many experts, including Stanislav Taylor and Brian Volkov, doubt the official explanations of suicides or poor health, hinting at something more sinister.")
"Where you from, girl?" The Russian driver asked in a thick English accent jolting her up. Sera glanced at him, unsure if he was addressing her. She seemed startled for a moment but soon recovered.
"States," she replied, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. The driver spared her a quick glance through the rear-view mirror as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
He shook his head in disbelief, his rough features contorting into a grimace. "Should have stayed there," he muttered under his breath.
Her brows knitted in confusion, Sera turned to face him, her gaze searching his weathered face for answers. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
A momentary silence followed. The reporter in the background kept on dictating the news. Her ears perked as she caught up on the names mentioned. A sudden chill ran down her spine.
"В это же время бизнесмен Юдас Романовский вступил в союзы с пенсионером из Испании, бывшим торговцем оружием. Возникают предположения о его причастности к недавнему перестрелке. Обнаруженное близ порта оружие и патроны произведены в Испании. Хотя нет никаких убедительных доказательств, власти работают над этими событиями."
Shootout. Weapons. Spain. And... Judas Romanovski. Sera held her breath.
("At the same time, businessman Judas Romanovski has entered into alliances with a retiree from Spain, a former arms dealer. Speculations arise about his involvement in the recent shootout. The weapons and ammunition discovered near the port were manufactured in Spain. Although there is no compelling evidence, authorities are working on these events.")
Unsure of what the man meant, she let out a sigh and blocked out the news reporter. The more she heard, the more anxious she was getting. Calm down. There was no way she'd caught herself amidst the danger. She was just a student. From hostel to college and repeat. Get a part-time and stay away from trouble. The only motto she lived by and she'd live by.
The car took a sudden turn, slowing down before coming to a halt. Sera looked around as they stopped in front of a fancy building. It took her off guard. This couldn't be the hostel? She uncrumpled the paper in her hand and read the address again. Star Square-lane 25-building 56.
"We are here." The driver grumbled in a rough accent. Nodding, she got out of the taxi. The cold air hitting her exposed face and neck immediately, "Get your luggage out."
"What-oh!" Feeling stupid, she quickly ducked in and grabbed her trolley bag along with a smaller one. "Spasibo."
The driver gave her a look and then turned around. She blinked unsure if she offended him somehow. As long as she knew, that thank you was Spasibo in Russian, did she somehow misinterpret it?
"Будь осторожен, в тени могут быть змеи."
Sera frowned. Be careful of... snakes?
She watched as the taxi drove away. Something strange settled in her chest. She couldn't pinpoint it, but she could feel it. The suffocation for a second, a feeling of something close to fear.
She kept looking at the empty road for another moment before blinking away with a shake of her head. She must've misunderstood him. Maybe there really were snakes around and he wanted to warn her to be aware of them. Calming her heart, she swallowed hard and brushed away the sensations. Focusing her attention on the building, she took a deep breath. These two years would take long, she could feel already.
Her clutch on the bags tightened and with a determined sigh, she got ready to face whatever would come her way.
**********