The Case of the Curse in Stalin Skyscraper
1.
I woke up suddenly to the shrill cries of crows. Outside the window, the twilight was dying into the dark. The lurid thunder-clouds were piling up forebodingly over the city, moving fast to my window. An unexplainable sense of alarm fell upon me at the sight of this dark coming mass.
I had a splitting headache, and I was really thirsty. I rubbed my temples trying to numb the pain, got up and looked around un unfamiliar bedroom. I saw a full-height window, a huge round bed, a luxury furniture made of mahogany and a pillowy handcrafted carpet.
I had a splitting headache, and I was really thirsty. I rubbed my temples trying to numb the pain, got up and looked around un unfamiliar bedroom. I saw a full-height window, a huge round bed, a luxury furniture made of mahogany and a pillowy handcrafted carpet.
What the hell I'm doing in this apartment?! How come I'm here?
I rubbed my temples again trying to reconstruct past events, but the memory again overthrew me in a dark abyss. There was only a vacuum. Not a single recollection. As if I'd never existed before that evening at all.
WHO AM I? WHAT IS MY NAME?
I was seized by panic because I couldn't find the answers to these questions.
Ok, breathe deeper! The memory will come back to you!
I sat on the bed rubbing my temples as if it could help me. But no matter how hard I was forcing my memory, I couldn't catch anything from my past.
After getting over my panic attack I came closer to the mirror and inspected myself.
My eyes were incredible blue like shininh sapphires but before I could appreciate it, a closer look revealed the contact lens. I removed them in haste and stared at me with one brown eye and another one green-grey.
«Supri-i-i-i-ise!» flashed in my head.
I tried to focus on examiming me but two multicolored eyes were taking my mind off.
'I'm... My name is...'
My memory was still keeping silence deceitfully without giving me any hint.
Did I get hog-drunk that now I remember nothing?!
But I didn't look like I had gotten a bad case of skull cramps. I even had managed not to muss up my silk floor-length terra-cotta gown. But after all, I could be drunk - I noticed a spot of red wine on the skirt.
If I'm so overdressed, does it mean that I was hanging out?
I closed my eyes and racked my memory one more time but again without results.
What day of the week is today? What month?
I looked out of the window. The wind was tousling furiously the bare branches of the trees, and the dirty-grey scraps of snow in faint light of lanterns were melting on the dark ground.
November? February? March?
I decided to check the apartment.
Maybe I will find here the prompts? Perhaps there is someone else?
I half-opened the door. There was dead silence in the obscurity of the corridor — no TV's noise, no someone's steps in the next room, no sounds at all. Only the crows were cawing outside the window.
I leaved the bedroom on tiptoe. The clock hands were ticking steadily about somewhere. I moved towards it in the dark and got into a front room with an uncurtained window that opened up a dark sky.
'Is anybody here?'
Only the silence was a reply.
Moments later, when my eyes got used to the darkness, I saw a silhouette in the armchair. Someone was sitting there silent, ignoring my question. I felt creepy.
'I'm sorry, I don't know how come I'm here. Could you please tell me where I am?'
But the silhouette didn't answer. It scared me.
What if it's not safe here and this person is going to attack me?
I tried frantically to feel for a switch and flipped it. As soon as the light illuminated the room I screamed with horror.
I saw in the armchair a man with his throat cut. Blood had drenched his white shirt. His glassy eyes were staring at me with frozen astonishment. He was young, not older than thirty.
I hung back looking at the dead in a hypnotic trance.
Oh my God, while I was sleeping, someone killed him! He could kill me too! Maybe I'm still alive because I was asleep and didn't see a murderer? Or he didn't know that there was someone else in the apartment?
My thoughts were running around my head like a scalded cat. My heart was in my mouth as if after long-distance running.
Near the couch, on the small table, I noticed a bottle "Moët&Chandon" and two glasses. One of them had prints of purple lipstick — the same color as were on my lips.
So we were drinking champagne together, then I went to the bedroom and fell asleep right in the dress, and at that very moment, someone got into the apartment and killed the guy. Someone whom he knew well judging by his amazed look. The murderer caught him unawares getting the knife, and the poor fellow didn't have any chance to defend himself.
Stop!
An awful guess stroke me. I looked at a dark spot on my dress.
We were drinking champagne, not red wine! What if... what if it's his blood?!
Was it ME who killed him?!
My legs became rubbery. I drooped along the wall and hunkered down.
If it were me who killed him, my hands would be in the blood! Or I murdered him, washed my hands and went to sleep as if nothing had happened?!
Am I a coldblooded murderer?!
And where is a knife?
Overcoming fear, I crawled to the armchair and inspected a place of the murder.
There was no knife. But the killer could throw it out of the window.
If I killed him, why didn't I bolt the scene and went to sleep instead? It doesn't make sense.
No, it wasn't me! I could drink red wine at the party and soil the dress there.
Could this guy give me a spiked drink? Maybe that's why I crashed out. And at that moment the murderer came here, and it was him who took away the knife.
I tried to persuade myself that I was not guilty in his death, but I hardly believed it myself.
What should I do now? They will charge me with murder!
Suddenly a new thought stroke me.
Where is my cell? I can call someone from my contact list, and they will tell me who I am. They will help me!
I rushed to the hallway to check my bag.
Bingo!
I saw a satin purse on the table near the entrance. I grabbed it quickly and opened it with a sinking heart.
No cell, no documents. Only a bunch of keys, the perfume "Narciso Rodriguez" and two 5-thousand ruble notes in a small pocket.
Disappointed I threw away a purse on the floor. The keys slipped out and slid on the parquet.
I took and put them to the keyholes. Both of them fitted the locks.
I opened wide a closet in the hallway and found there women's coats and footwear mixed up with the men's ones.
Do I live here?!
Maybe this dead guy is not a stranger? Perhaps I love him? Did I use to fall asleep in his arms on that round bed every night, to make breakfast for him, to spend together the evenings on the couch before this large plasma TV, to watch the shows laughing?
Who is he?
I went back to the front room and checked every locker. I wanted to find any documents, letters, bills... Something that could have the names.
But again I felt disappointed. The search didn't give any results. Nothing! Even no photos.
No way that I have no cell!
Maybe I didn't take it to the party because I had forgotten it at home? And I usually don't take my ID documents with me. So they must be at home.
But they are not in this apartment. Does it mean that I don't live here? Or did I lose it at the party?... Or did the murderer take it?!
I need to leave this place. But where to go?
I had a choice – to stay with the body until the police arrested me or to carry the banner.
As Thomas Jefferson said, I prefer dangerous freedom over peaceful slavery in a jail.
I grabbed in a hurry some clothes from the wardrobe, put it in a travel bag and changed into the jeans and a turtleneck sweater. In the hallway, I put on a fur coat and the low-heeled boots. After thinking for a while, I decided to take my soiled dress with me and to get rid of it on my way. Just in case. I convolved it, and I was going to push it into a side pocket of the bag when suddenly I found there the wads of C-notes.
'Wow!!! Most welcome!'
I tucked the keys and rubles from my purse into the pocket of the jeans, and I was already going to leave the apartment, but then I decided to clean my fingerprints. Just in case. But a few moments later I stopped.
What's the point? If I live here, of course, my fingerprints are everywhere.
However, I took the glass with the lipstick prints and also tucked it into a side pocket of the bag, then brought another one from the kitchen with the help of the dishtowel.
While putting a new glass on the table my eyes met the body once again. He kept on staring at me in surprise, and his unblinking look made me shrink in horror.
Poor guy! He was handsome. For sure, the girls were crazy about him. Could he think while opening a bottle of champagne that he would be dead in a couple of hours?
I knew I should close his eyes, but I couldn't' make myself touch him.
'Rest in peace!' I whispered.
I was going to leave the room when suddenly I heard a feeble buzzing noise. It looked like a cellphone vibrating about somewhere!
I strained my ears and heard the sound from under an armchair.
Maybe the guy's phone dropped there? That's why the murderer didn't take it with him.
Or it's my cell??
I pushed my hand under an armchair and got out Samsung with one missed call from Stas. I hoped there was no password.
Bingo! I got lucky!
At that very moment when the display got unlocked and I was going to examine the cell, I heard a noise from the hallway.
Someone was fumbling with a lock and trying to get in!
I jumped to my feet and froze up listening. In silence, I could hear my heart beating.
WHAT SHALL I DO NEXT?!
I rubbed my temples again trying to reconstruct past events, but the memory again overthrew me in a dark abyss. There was only a vacuum. Not a single recollection. As if I'd never existed before that evening at all.
WHO AM I? WHAT IS MY NAME?
I was seized by panic because I couldn't find the answers to these questions.
Ok, breathe deeper! The memory will come back to you!
I sat on the bed rubbing my temples as if it could help me. But no matter how hard I was forcing my memory, I couldn't catch anything from my past.
After getting over my panic attack I came closer to the mirror and inspected myself.
My eyes were incredible blue like shininh sapphires but before I could appreciate it, a closer look revealed the contact lens. I removed them in haste and stared at me with one brown eye and another one green-grey.
«Supri-i-i-i-ise!» flashed in my head.
I tried to focus on examiming me but two multicolored eyes were taking my mind off.
'I'm... My name is...'
My memory was still keeping silence deceitfully without giving me any hint.
Did I get hog-drunk that now I remember nothing?!
But I didn't look like I had gotten a bad case of skull cramps. I even had managed not to muss up my silk floor-length terra-cotta gown. But after all, I could be drunk - I noticed a spot of red wine on the skirt.
If I'm so overdressed, does it mean that I was hanging out?
I closed my eyes and racked my memory one more time but again without results.
What day of the week is today? What month?
I looked out of the window. The wind was tousling furiously the bare branches of the trees, and the dirty-grey scraps of snow in faint light of lanterns were melting on the dark ground.
November? February? March?
I decided to check the apartment.
Maybe I will find here the prompts? Perhaps there is someone else?
I half-opened the door. There was dead silence in the obscurity of the corridor — no TV's noise, no someone's steps in the next room, no sounds at all. Only the crows were cawing outside the window.
I leaved the bedroom on tiptoe. The clock hands were ticking steadily about somewhere. I moved towards it in the dark and got into a front room with an uncurtained window that opened up a dark sky.
'Is anybody here?'
Only the silence was a reply.
Moments later, when my eyes got used to the darkness, I saw a silhouette in the armchair. Someone was sitting there silent, ignoring my question. I felt creepy.
'I'm sorry, I don't know how come I'm here. Could you please tell me where I am?'
But the silhouette didn't answer. It scared me.
What if it's not safe here and this person is going to attack me?
I tried frantically to feel for a switch and flipped it. As soon as the light illuminated the room I screamed with horror.
I saw in the armchair a man with his throat cut. Blood had drenched his white shirt. His glassy eyes were staring at me with frozen astonishment. He was young, not older than thirty.
I hung back looking at the dead in a hypnotic trance.
Oh my God, while I was sleeping, someone killed him! He could kill me too! Maybe I'm still alive because I was asleep and didn't see a murderer? Or he didn't know that there was someone else in the apartment?
My thoughts were running around my head like a scalded cat. My heart was in my mouth as if after long-distance running.
Near the couch, on the small table, I noticed a bottle "Moët&Chandon" and two glasses. One of them had prints of purple lipstick — the same color as were on my lips.
So we were drinking champagne together, then I went to the bedroom and fell asleep right in the dress, and at that very moment, someone got into the apartment and killed the guy. Someone whom he knew well judging by his amazed look. The murderer caught him unawares getting the knife, and the poor fellow didn't have any chance to defend himself.
Stop!
An awful guess stroke me. I looked at a dark spot on my dress.
We were drinking champagne, not red wine! What if... what if it's his blood?!
Was it ME who killed him?!
My legs became rubbery. I drooped along the wall and hunkered down.
If it were me who killed him, my hands would be in the blood! Or I murdered him, washed my hands and went to sleep as if nothing had happened?!
Am I a coldblooded murderer?!
And where is a knife?
Overcoming fear, I crawled to the armchair and inspected a place of the murder.
There was no knife. But the killer could throw it out of the window.
If I killed him, why didn't I bolt the scene and went to sleep instead? It doesn't make sense.
No, it wasn't me! I could drink red wine at the party and soil the dress there.
Could this guy give me a spiked drink? Maybe that's why I crashed out. And at that moment the murderer came here, and it was him who took away the knife.
I tried to persuade myself that I was not guilty in his death, but I hardly believed it myself.
What should I do now? They will charge me with murder!
Suddenly a new thought stroke me.
Where is my cell? I can call someone from my contact list, and they will tell me who I am. They will help me!
I rushed to the hallway to check my bag.
Bingo!
I saw a satin purse on the table near the entrance. I grabbed it quickly and opened it with a sinking heart.
No cell, no documents. Only a bunch of keys, the perfume "Narciso Rodriguez" and two 5-thousand ruble notes in a small pocket.
Disappointed I threw away a purse on the floor. The keys slipped out and slid on the parquet.
I took and put them to the keyholes. Both of them fitted the locks.
I opened wide a closet in the hallway and found there women's coats and footwear mixed up with the men's ones.
Do I live here?!
Maybe this dead guy is not a stranger? Perhaps I love him? Did I use to fall asleep in his arms on that round bed every night, to make breakfast for him, to spend together the evenings on the couch before this large plasma TV, to watch the shows laughing?
Who is he?
I went back to the front room and checked every locker. I wanted to find any documents, letters, bills... Something that could have the names.
But again I felt disappointed. The search didn't give any results. Nothing! Even no photos.
No way that I have no cell!
Maybe I didn't take it to the party because I had forgotten it at home? And I usually don't take my ID documents with me. So they must be at home.
But they are not in this apartment. Does it mean that I don't live here? Or did I lose it at the party?... Or did the murderer take it?!
I need to leave this place. But where to go?
I had a choice – to stay with the body until the police arrested me or to carry the banner.
As Thomas Jefferson said, I prefer dangerous freedom over peaceful slavery in a jail.
I grabbed in a hurry some clothes from the wardrobe, put it in a travel bag and changed into the jeans and a turtleneck sweater. In the hallway, I put on a fur coat and the low-heeled boots. After thinking for a while, I decided to take my soiled dress with me and to get rid of it on my way. Just in case. I convolved it, and I was going to push it into a side pocket of the bag when suddenly I found there the wads of C-notes.
'Wow!!! Most welcome!'
I tucked the keys and rubles from my purse into the pocket of the jeans, and I was already going to leave the apartment, but then I decided to clean my fingerprints. Just in case. But a few moments later I stopped.
What's the point? If I live here, of course, my fingerprints are everywhere.
However, I took the glass with the lipstick prints and also tucked it into a side pocket of the bag, then brought another one from the kitchen with the help of the dishtowel.
While putting a new glass on the table my eyes met the body once again. He kept on staring at me in surprise, and his unblinking look made me shrink in horror.
Poor guy! He was handsome. For sure, the girls were crazy about him. Could he think while opening a bottle of champagne that he would be dead in a couple of hours?
I knew I should close his eyes, but I couldn't' make myself touch him.
'Rest in peace!' I whispered.
I was going to leave the room when suddenly I heard a feeble buzzing noise. It looked like a cellphone vibrating about somewhere!
I strained my ears and heard the sound from under an armchair.
Maybe the guy's phone dropped there? That's why the murderer didn't take it with him.
Or it's my cell??
I pushed my hand under an armchair and got out Samsung with one missed call from Stas. I hoped there was no password.
Bingo! I got lucky!
At that very moment when the display got unlocked and I was going to examine the cell, I heard a noise from the hallway.
Someone was fumbling with a lock and trying to get in!
I jumped to my feet and froze up listening. In silence, I could hear my heart beating.
WHAT SHALL I DO NEXT?!
2.
It seemed to me that it'd been ages since I heard someone fumbling with a lock.
Why is it taking them so long to open the door with his keys? Or they don't have it and are trying to pick the lock?
Who is it? Police or criminals? Policemen most likely would ring the doorbell and shout sort of "Open the door! We are police officers!"
I put the phone in the pocket, grabbed a ceramic bowl from the table, crept about on tiptoe and hid behind an entrance door.
My nerves were frayed.
In any way and by all means, I must get out of here!
When finally, the door opened, and a man appeared on the front doorstep, I hit him on his head with a large bowl and ran out of the apartment.
I didn't want to waste my time examining an uninvited guest who collapsed on the floor. I rushed down the stairs and passed seven levels in a few seconds. And while I was running, my thoughts were skipping around my head too.
It came to my mind that there could be cameras in the entrance hall or the concierge who would inform the police that at the moment of the murder I was at home and ran away later. Police will not search for a real murderer. It would be easier to put me in the wrong.
I was still refusing to think that I could kill that guy.
Only behind the next building, I stopped running to fetch my breath. I needed to find out where I was standing and in what direction I should keep moving, then to find a perfect place for inspecting the cellphone.
I got Samsung from my pocket and opened Google Maps. The application showed my location – Moscow, Marshal Biruzov street, not far from the metro station "Oktyabrskoe pole" (October Field).
Why is it taking them so long to open the door with his keys? Or they don't have it and are trying to pick the lock?
Who is it? Police or criminals? Policemen most likely would ring the doorbell and shout sort of "Open the door! We are police officers!"
I put the phone in the pocket, grabbed a ceramic bowl from the table, crept about on tiptoe and hid behind an entrance door.
My nerves were frayed.
In any way and by all means, I must get out of here!
When finally, the door opened, and a man appeared on the front doorstep, I hit him on his head with a large bowl and ran out of the apartment.
I didn't want to waste my time examining an uninvited guest who collapsed on the floor. I rushed down the stairs and passed seven levels in a few seconds. And while I was running, my thoughts were skipping around my head too.
It came to my mind that there could be cameras in the entrance hall or the concierge who would inform the police that at the moment of the murder I was at home and ran away later. Police will not search for a real murderer. It would be easier to put me in the wrong.
I was still refusing to think that I could kill that guy.
Only behind the next building, I stopped running to fetch my breath. I needed to find out where I was standing and in what direction I should keep moving, then to find a perfect place for inspecting the cellphone.
I got Samsung from my pocket and opened Google Maps. The application showed my location – Moscow, Marshal Biruzov street, not far from the metro station "Oktyabrskoe pole" (October Field).
10.55 p.m. The subway is still open. It's a rather appropriate place to melt into the crowd.
On my way to the metro station in the empty street, first I got rid of the glass by crashing it in an ashcan and then at the end of the next building I threw out the dress.
I went down into the subway and didn't find there a crowd of passengers. In my imagination it was supposed to be a noisy place but, apparently, everybody had decided to spent the Sunday night at home.
The cashier with a mask on her face frowned disapprovingly when she saw me and squinted suspiciously at my 5-thousand ruble note when I asked her a ticket for one trip.
'I recommend you to buy a Troika card. Without it you will not be able to move through the city. And put on a mask.' The women added making me change in the disposal gloves.
'Nuts.' I thought and put the money in the pocket.
Passing a ticket gate, I pulled down a hood of the coat on my face. The cameras were everywhere. I didn't want to be caught due to a facial recognition program and to be put behind bars for the murder I hadn't committed.
I hoped I hadn't committed.
While running down to the subway platform with a train, I noticed the same mask on the metro driver's face.
The second person in a mask in the last five minutes. What's up? Flu season?
I entered a subway carriage and was surprised once again because I was there the only one passenger.
Weird! It's not 1 a.m. Where is everyone?
Only when the train left a platform, I breathed easily and fished a cell from the pocket.
Is it mine or his?
WTF? No photos, no texts, no e-mails. Is it new? Has he just bought it?
I looked through the call history. Stas, Dmitry, Aeroflot, Vasily, Bank, Baby girl!
So, if there was a call to Baby girl, it's his phone. Or it's mine, and I'm a gay.
Does it mean that it's his cell and I'm his Baby girl?
Or it's mine, and I have a girlfriend?...
I kept in mind Baby Girl's number. If that guy from the apartment was my boyfriend and he called me yesterday, the number could be mine.
At least I have one lead.
I began inspecting the apps. Games, books, movies...
How Candy Crash Soda or Russian-Italian dictionary can help me?
But Facebook is another story!
I clicked it. Of course, it was a fake account.
Who is this Walter White?
There were no photos, only one user pic with a bleak four-eyes man and a subscript «Breaking bad» — no messages, no notifications, no friends online.
Acting on impulse, I dialed Baby Girl's number. But a female voice informed me that the number was not in service anymore.
Weird. Yesterday he talked to her for seven minutes, and now the number doesn't exist.
I decided to call to Stas.
He can tell the name of the murdered guy and then in chain order, I can find out who I am.
Stas replied quickly as if he was sitting with a cell in his hand and waiting for that call.
'Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you all evening! First, you were unavailable, and then you didn't answer!' He growled on the phone.
'... Sorry, I've just found this cell, and I would like to return it to the owner. Could you please give me his name and tell me how to contact him?'
'What a jerk! How could he lose his cell now?!' Stas sounded pissed off.
'Could you please give me an answer ASAP? The battery is running down.' I lied to hurry up the guy.
'Where are you? Where are you going? I'll come soon, and then I'll find Nikita and give him his phone.'
I hung up.
So his name was Nikita.
I racked my memory hoping that the name would prompt me something about my life, but it didn't happen.
Suddenly it came to me in a flash.
What if Stas is on his way to Nikita's apartment? He will find his body, call the police and they will trace my call and arrest me?
I need to get rid of this cell ASAP!
It would be the stupidest thing to be caught like that. Especially since the call didn't give me anything useful, except the name.
I turned the phone off and while leaving the subway carriage dropped it between the train and a platform.
During the change for a Circle line, I met three people – a young woman on the escalator moving in the opposite direction, a guy on the platform and a police officer on duty in the far end of the station whom I hurried to hide from. All three were wearing black thick masks on their faces.
WTF??? Why is everybody with the masks? Is it the latest thing?
I wanted to go to the railway station Kievskaya and leave Moscow. Then I realized that I couldn't buy a ticket without an ID. Of course, I could try to pay a bribe to the conductor but where to go? I had nowhere to go, even just for a night. At the hotel, I would face the same problem without an ID.
Fine! Where should I go now late at night?
I had no Internet to find a place to stay, no phone to call the information desk. The only one phone booth I met didn't have a handset.
I decided to go to the cinema in the shopping mall for a late show. It seemed to me a perfect warm place where I could sit and weigh up everything.
On my way to the metro station in the empty street, first I got rid of the glass by crashing it in an ashcan and then at the end of the next building I threw out the dress.
I went down into the subway and didn't find there a crowd of passengers. In my imagination it was supposed to be a noisy place but, apparently, everybody had decided to spent the Sunday night at home.
The cashier with a mask on her face frowned disapprovingly when she saw me and squinted suspiciously at my 5-thousand ruble note when I asked her a ticket for one trip.
'I recommend you to buy a Troika card. Without it you will not be able to move through the city. And put on a mask.' The women added making me change in the disposal gloves.
'Nuts.' I thought and put the money in the pocket.
Passing a ticket gate, I pulled down a hood of the coat on my face. The cameras were everywhere. I didn't want to be caught due to a facial recognition program and to be put behind bars for the murder I hadn't committed.
I hoped I hadn't committed.
While running down to the subway platform with a train, I noticed the same mask on the metro driver's face.
The second person in a mask in the last five minutes. What's up? Flu season?
I entered a subway carriage and was surprised once again because I was there the only one passenger.
Weird! It's not 1 a.m. Where is everyone?
Only when the train left a platform, I breathed easily and fished a cell from the pocket.
Is it mine or his?
WTF? No photos, no texts, no e-mails. Is it new? Has he just bought it?
I looked through the call history. Stas, Dmitry, Aeroflot, Vasily, Bank, Baby girl!
So, if there was a call to Baby girl, it's his phone. Or it's mine, and I'm a gay.
Does it mean that it's his cell and I'm his Baby girl?
Or it's mine, and I have a girlfriend?...
I kept in mind Baby Girl's number. If that guy from the apartment was my boyfriend and he called me yesterday, the number could be mine.
At least I have one lead.
I began inspecting the apps. Games, books, movies...
How Candy Crash Soda or Russian-Italian dictionary can help me?
But Facebook is another story!
I clicked it. Of course, it was a fake account.
Who is this Walter White?
There were no photos, only one user pic with a bleak four-eyes man and a subscript «Breaking bad» — no messages, no notifications, no friends online.
Acting on impulse, I dialed Baby Girl's number. But a female voice informed me that the number was not in service anymore.
Weird. Yesterday he talked to her for seven minutes, and now the number doesn't exist.
I decided to call to Stas.
He can tell the name of the murdered guy and then in chain order, I can find out who I am.
Stas replied quickly as if he was sitting with a cell in his hand and waiting for that call.
'Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you all evening! First, you were unavailable, and then you didn't answer!' He growled on the phone.
'... Sorry, I've just found this cell, and I would like to return it to the owner. Could you please give me his name and tell me how to contact him?'
'What a jerk! How could he lose his cell now?!' Stas sounded pissed off.
'Could you please give me an answer ASAP? The battery is running down.' I lied to hurry up the guy.
'Where are you? Where are you going? I'll come soon, and then I'll find Nikita and give him his phone.'
I hung up.
So his name was Nikita.
I racked my memory hoping that the name would prompt me something about my life, but it didn't happen.
Suddenly it came to me in a flash.
What if Stas is on his way to Nikita's apartment? He will find his body, call the police and they will trace my call and arrest me?
I need to get rid of this cell ASAP!
It would be the stupidest thing to be caught like that. Especially since the call didn't give me anything useful, except the name.
I turned the phone off and while leaving the subway carriage dropped it between the train and a platform.
During the change for a Circle line, I met three people – a young woman on the escalator moving in the opposite direction, a guy on the platform and a police officer on duty in the far end of the station whom I hurried to hide from. All three were wearing black thick masks on their faces.
WTF??? Why is everybody with the masks? Is it the latest thing?
I wanted to go to the railway station Kievskaya and leave Moscow. Then I realized that I couldn't buy a ticket without an ID. Of course, I could try to pay a bribe to the conductor but where to go? I had nowhere to go, even just for a night. At the hotel, I would face the same problem without an ID.
Fine! Where should I go now late at night?
I had no Internet to find a place to stay, no phone to call the information desk. The only one phone booth I met didn't have a handset.
I decided to go to the cinema in the shopping mall for a late show. It seemed to me a perfect warm place where I could sit and weigh up everything.
Near the shopping mall I faced a bombshell. It was closed! I knew that it was late but there were always the midnight movies. Standing behind a glass door, the security offices, of course, with a black mask on his face, shouted to me that the shops and the cinema hadn't been working for a few weeks.
'How come you don't know?' he was staring at me in surprise through the glass. 'All shopping malls in Moscow are closed. And cinema. And restaurants and cafes. Everybody stays home.'
I stepped back from the front door and looked around. The empty streets made me feel creepy. I was standing in the center of the city that never slept in the necklace of the lights and the neon signs. In Moscow things were humming 24/7, and even at night a noise from onrushing cars never ceased. But at that moment the sidewalks seemed completely deserted, and the streams of cars had visibly thinned off.
WTF???
Everything around me looked like a nightmare or a zombie apocalypse movie. What could have happened that made Moscow's life to freeze?
Lucky for me, I noticed the all-night drugstore across the street. This time I wasn't surprised when I saw the masks on the faces of a pharmacist and a customer – a drunken teenager who was paying for the condoms. But the marks on the floor "Keep distance 1,5 metres" confused me. But I didn't have time to think about it as a teenager saw me and let out a weird whoop. Then he tried to hug me with the words "Hey sweetie! Give me a kiss" and whispered conspiratorially in my ear "Keep clear of scolopendra!", then suddenly left the drugstore bumping into a new customer.
Nuts or stoner? What the hell scolopendra he's talking about?
I bought a painkiller with a bottle of water and took two pills all at once. And at that very moment when I was thinking to ask a pharmacist about a reason of wearing the masks, someone behind me tapped on my shoulder.
'Hi, there! What a small world!'
'How come you don't know?' he was staring at me in surprise through the glass. 'All shopping malls in Moscow are closed. And cinema. And restaurants and cafes. Everybody stays home.'
I stepped back from the front door and looked around. The empty streets made me feel creepy. I was standing in the center of the city that never slept in the necklace of the lights and the neon signs. In Moscow things were humming 24/7, and even at night a noise from onrushing cars never ceased. But at that moment the sidewalks seemed completely deserted, and the streams of cars had visibly thinned off.
WTF???
Everything around me looked like a nightmare or a zombie apocalypse movie. What could have happened that made Moscow's life to freeze?
Lucky for me, I noticed the all-night drugstore across the street. This time I wasn't surprised when I saw the masks on the faces of a pharmacist and a customer – a drunken teenager who was paying for the condoms. But the marks on the floor "Keep distance 1,5 metres" confused me. But I didn't have time to think about it as a teenager saw me and let out a weird whoop. Then he tried to hug me with the words "Hey sweetie! Give me a kiss" and whispered conspiratorially in my ear "Keep clear of scolopendra!", then suddenly left the drugstore bumping into a new customer.
Nuts or stoner? What the hell scolopendra he's talking about?
I bought a painkiller with a bottle of water and took two pills all at once. And at that very moment when I was thinking to ask a pharmacist about a reason of wearing the masks, someone behind me tapped on my shoulder.
'Hi, there! What a small world!'
3.
It made me jump.
Has someone tracked me down?
I turned around and saw a long-haired blond guy in his 30s. Somehow I had no doubt that his black mask was hiding a grin on his face.
'You're wrong. I've never seen you before.'
I turned my back to make it clear that our conversation was over.
'Come on, Sabrina! Don't you remember Eric's birthday out of town two weeks ago? I made you cocktails.'
He removed a mask and showed his face.
'Still don't recognize me?'
My heart missed a beat. I turned to him again.
'Are you sure that I'm Sabrina?'
'At least you said so. Or did you lie?' He winks.
Sabrina! Seriously? I was probably fooling him.
'I wasn't there. You must have me confused with someone else.'
'No way! You don't have a mask. I can see your whole face. It was you!' He shrieked with laughter. 'Oh, I see! You say that it was not you because you broke the stay-at-home order and don't want to get a fine, do you?
What a crap he's talking! What stay-at-home order? What fine??
'You were there with your friend,' the Blond keeps insisting. 'She's Eric's neighbor. He invited her. She has a space name. Nebula?... Universe?... Galaxy! A jewelry designer or something.'
'And who am I?'
'You didn't tell me. You said that girls should be mysterious.'
'Ok, it's a very funny story, but it wasn't me.'
I headed to the exit.
'Ok, let it be so! Actually, I was drunk that night, so maybe I'm wrong. Say hello to Galaxy!'
I left the drugstore and hurried to a taxi-rank.
I need to get away ASAP. What a weird guy! Sabrina, Galaxy! The world went crazy!
I got into the first cab I saw.
'I need a hotel.'
'Which one?'
'You know, there's a problem,' I said taking out two hundred bucks from my bag. 'I have no ID right now, it was stolen, but I need to stay somewhere for a night. I have cash. Enough cash to thank you, if you help me.'
The driver, of course, in a mask, gave me a searching look at the money in my hand, then at my fur coat with a brand-name bag and nodded in approval.
'I have contacts. It's not a seedy hotel. Four stars, by the way. Let's try it.'
'Thank you!'
We moved ahead. I turned around. The blond guy was still inside the drugstore, and it looked like nobody was following me.
Has someone tracked me down?
I turned around and saw a long-haired blond guy in his 30s. Somehow I had no doubt that his black mask was hiding a grin on his face.
'You're wrong. I've never seen you before.'
I turned my back to make it clear that our conversation was over.
'Come on, Sabrina! Don't you remember Eric's birthday out of town two weeks ago? I made you cocktails.'
He removed a mask and showed his face.
'Still don't recognize me?'
My heart missed a beat. I turned to him again.
'Are you sure that I'm Sabrina?'
'At least you said so. Or did you lie?' He winks.
Sabrina! Seriously? I was probably fooling him.
'I wasn't there. You must have me confused with someone else.'
'No way! You don't have a mask. I can see your whole face. It was you!' He shrieked with laughter. 'Oh, I see! You say that it was not you because you broke the stay-at-home order and don't want to get a fine, do you?
What a crap he's talking! What stay-at-home order? What fine??
'You were there with your friend,' the Blond keeps insisting. 'She's Eric's neighbor. He invited her. She has a space name. Nebula?... Universe?... Galaxy! A jewelry designer or something.'
'And who am I?'
'You didn't tell me. You said that girls should be mysterious.'
'Ok, it's a very funny story, but it wasn't me.'
I headed to the exit.
'Ok, let it be so! Actually, I was drunk that night, so maybe I'm wrong. Say hello to Galaxy!'
I left the drugstore and hurried to a taxi-rank.
I need to get away ASAP. What a weird guy! Sabrina, Galaxy! The world went crazy!
I got into the first cab I saw.
'I need a hotel.'
'Which one?'
'You know, there's a problem,' I said taking out two hundred bucks from my bag. 'I have no ID right now, it was stolen, but I need to stay somewhere for a night. I have cash. Enough cash to thank you, if you help me.'
The driver, of course, in a mask, gave me a searching look at the money in my hand, then at my fur coat with a brand-name bag and nodded in approval.
'I have contacts. It's not a seedy hotel. Four stars, by the way. Let's try it.'
'Thank you!'
We moved ahead. I turned around. The blond guy was still inside the drugstore, and it looked like nobody was following me.
The driver didn't lie. I got a luxurious upstairs room with a view of night Moscow. He was so happy to get a generous bonus from me that left his phone number in case if I would need something else. For example, a backstreet beauty salon. I almost choked on mineral water when the cab driver pronounced it.
A backstreet beauty salon?
I doubted that I would need him again but I took the piece of paper with his phone number and put it in the pocket. You never know.
In the room first I turned on the TV and started changing channels until I ran into a newsreel. What I saw made me became weak in the knees, and I flopped down on the edge of the bed.
I don't know how it happened but at that day I woke up in a completely different reality. A few news footages were enough for me to understand that something huge had shaken the life of the whole planet, and I got a front row seat to witness that historic event I even couldn't imagine before. Life stopped not only in Moscow. The entire world was frozen as if someone in heaven had taken the Earth remote control and pressed a button "Pause". Humanity was at a total loss and feeling so helpless locked up at home. The cities were deserted all over the world. Rome, Venice, London, New York, Paris, Vienna, Athens, Brussels, Barcelona... These footages looked like the scenes of the fiction movies about the killer viruses, and my brain didn't want to accept such a reality.
NO WAY IT CAN BE TRUE!
I refused to believe my own eyes when I saw on the news that now in Moscow the paramedics were coming in a protective equipment similar to the astronaut's space suits, and the cops were chasing the passers-by who had stepped away from their houses more than one hundred meters to give them a ticket.
A backstreet beauty salon?
I doubted that I would need him again but I took the piece of paper with his phone number and put it in the pocket. You never know.
In the room first I turned on the TV and started changing channels until I ran into a newsreel. What I saw made me became weak in the knees, and I flopped down on the edge of the bed.
I don't know how it happened but at that day I woke up in a completely different reality. A few news footages were enough for me to understand that something huge had shaken the life of the whole planet, and I got a front row seat to witness that historic event I even couldn't imagine before. Life stopped not only in Moscow. The entire world was frozen as if someone in heaven had taken the Earth remote control and pressed a button "Pause". Humanity was at a total loss and feeling so helpless locked up at home. The cities were deserted all over the world. Rome, Venice, London, New York, Paris, Vienna, Athens, Brussels, Barcelona... These footages looked like the scenes of the fiction movies about the killer viruses, and my brain didn't want to accept such a reality.
NO WAY IT CAN BE TRUE!
I refused to believe my own eyes when I saw on the news that now in Moscow the paramedics were coming in a protective equipment similar to the astronaut's space suits, and the cops were chasing the passers-by who had stepped away from their houses more than one hundred meters to give them a ticket.
I turned off TV and took another headache pill.
It can be true! This isn't happening!!!
I took a shower and ducked under a warm blanket. I was so tired! I wish I could fall asleep and wake up at home, tell my family at the breakfast table about an absurd nightmare where I had lost my memory and run away from the apartment with a dead guy, and we would laugh altogether at my weird dream.
Thinking of it, I fell asleep.
The phone ringing awoke me in the morning. It snatched me from a sleep and infused a sense of alarm into my heart. The first seconds I couldn't understand where I was lying, then the events of last night popped up in my head. I hoped that in the morning my memory would make a comeback, but my recollections still represented a black hole.
I looked at the clock. It was 11.05 a.m. After a few moments of hesitation, I picked up the phone.
'Good morning! There's a message for you at the reception,' said the concierge's voice.
'For me? Are you sure?'
'Your room is 1224. So the envelope is for you.'
'From whom?'
'I don't know. Someone gave it to the bellboy near a front entrance.'
Did a taxi driver write a note? He's the only one who knows a number of my room.
I ordered breakfast to my room and turned on the TV. Trying to avoid the terrible news about a virus, I changed the channel for the Music Top 10 Russia headed by Max Korsakov and his "You are somewhere". It was weird, but I knew that song enough to sing along.
When I walked in a dancing gait to the window, the stunning view over Moscow took my breath away. Then I had chills from awareness that the city seemed to be deserted and had frozen in place. The bright sunlight already melted yesterday's oddments of snow, and that fine, clear April day with its clear blue sky, perfect for enjoying life, warm weather and depth of spring, created a creepy contrast to a lifelessness of the city.
After breakfast and a bracing shower I decided to take a walk. I needed to buy a smartphone to get access to the Internet. Maybe the crime reports had already mentioned a murder in Biryuzova's street.
I prepaid the room for three nights and left my clothes there, but I took a bag with the money. I didn't want to risk. What if a thieving maid would find it during the room service?
I went down to the empty lobby and only on my way to the revolving door I recalled a letter.
Maybe a taxi driver wants to suggest something useful?
I came to the reception where a concierge in a mask gave me an envelope. There was a note.
"We need to talk. Our place, 01.30 p.m. Nikita."
It can be true! This isn't happening!!!
I took a shower and ducked under a warm blanket. I was so tired! I wish I could fall asleep and wake up at home, tell my family at the breakfast table about an absurd nightmare where I had lost my memory and run away from the apartment with a dead guy, and we would laugh altogether at my weird dream.
Thinking of it, I fell asleep.
The phone ringing awoke me in the morning. It snatched me from a sleep and infused a sense of alarm into my heart. The first seconds I couldn't understand where I was lying, then the events of last night popped up in my head. I hoped that in the morning my memory would make a comeback, but my recollections still represented a black hole.
I looked at the clock. It was 11.05 a.m. After a few moments of hesitation, I picked up the phone.
'Good morning! There's a message for you at the reception,' said the concierge's voice.
'For me? Are you sure?'
'Your room is 1224. So the envelope is for you.'
'From whom?'
'I don't know. Someone gave it to the bellboy near a front entrance.'
Did a taxi driver write a note? He's the only one who knows a number of my room.
I ordered breakfast to my room and turned on the TV. Trying to avoid the terrible news about a virus, I changed the channel for the Music Top 10 Russia headed by Max Korsakov and his "You are somewhere". It was weird, but I knew that song enough to sing along.
When I walked in a dancing gait to the window, the stunning view over Moscow took my breath away. Then I had chills from awareness that the city seemed to be deserted and had frozen in place. The bright sunlight already melted yesterday's oddments of snow, and that fine, clear April day with its clear blue sky, perfect for enjoying life, warm weather and depth of spring, created a creepy contrast to a lifelessness of the city.
After breakfast and a bracing shower I decided to take a walk. I needed to buy a smartphone to get access to the Internet. Maybe the crime reports had already mentioned a murder in Biryuzova's street.
I prepaid the room for three nights and left my clothes there, but I took a bag with the money. I didn't want to risk. What if a thieving maid would find it during the room service?
I went down to the empty lobby and only on my way to the revolving door I recalled a letter.
Maybe a taxi driver wants to suggest something useful?
I came to the reception where a concierge in a mask gave me an envelope. There was a note.
"We need to talk. Our place, 01.30 p.m. Nikita."
4.
I read a note once again.
Nikita?! What Nikita? The dead guy?
But he couldn't leave this message. He's dead!
Does it mean that it was not his cell under the armchair? Then how come it was there? Or let's put the question another way. What if Nikita is alive, he lives in that apartment, and it was his cell? Then who was that dead guy and what he was doing there? Or after all the dead's name was Nikita too and it was his cell, and the person who left a message for me is just his namesake?
All these questions blew my mind. Only one thing was clear – someone had tracked me down from the apartment to the hotel.
The blond from the drugstore? A very slim chance. I checked - he didn't follow me.
What does it mean "our place"?
For some reason, this Nikita is keeping shady. He didn't enter the hotel and used the bellboy to stay under the radar. But at the same time, somehow he knows exactly the number of my room!
What does it mean "we need to talk"? It looks like we are not in touch anymore, but now he has to reach out to me.
And how on Earth do I know where is "our place?
I frowned with annoyance. I got a clue – a person who could say my name, but it was impossible to find him! No phone number, no address. I just hoped that he would try to get in touch once again when I didn't show up.
Thinking about it I left the hotel.
The day was already in full swing. For a moment I got lost imagining that on Monday things were humming in the streets of Moscow, as usual, but the reality brought me down to earth. The city looked like the series' intro to The Walking Dead.
Nikita?! What Nikita? The dead guy?
But he couldn't leave this message. He's dead!
Does it mean that it was not his cell under the armchair? Then how come it was there? Or let's put the question another way. What if Nikita is alive, he lives in that apartment, and it was his cell? Then who was that dead guy and what he was doing there? Or after all the dead's name was Nikita too and it was his cell, and the person who left a message for me is just his namesake?
All these questions blew my mind. Only one thing was clear – someone had tracked me down from the apartment to the hotel.
The blond from the drugstore? A very slim chance. I checked - he didn't follow me.
What does it mean "our place"?
For some reason, this Nikita is keeping shady. He didn't enter the hotel and used the bellboy to stay under the radar. But at the same time, somehow he knows exactly the number of my room!
What does it mean "we need to talk"? It looks like we are not in touch anymore, but now he has to reach out to me.
And how on Earth do I know where is "our place?
I frowned with annoyance. I got a clue – a person who could say my name, but it was impossible to find him! No phone number, no address. I just hoped that he would try to get in touch once again when I didn't show up.
Thinking about it I left the hotel.
The day was already in full swing. For a moment I got lost imagining that on Monday things were humming in the streets of Moscow, as usual, but the reality brought me down to earth. The city looked like the series' intro to The Walking Dead.
The cars were driving around but only a few, the passersby came across rarely and each of them had a mask on the face, the doors of the shops and the cafes were dotted with the flyers "In accordance with a Russian Government Ordinance we're closed since March 28, 2020". I still couldn't believe that all that was real as if I was sleeping and it was just a dream.
Lucky for me, the cellphone store near the metro station was opened. Judging by the cheerful greeting of the shopkeeper in a mask I was the first customer in a very long time.
I told him a sob story that I couldn't register any SIM card in my own name because my ex-husband, a powerful monster and asshole, would track me down again.
'You got a bum deal with these digital passes!' said the guy with sympathy scratching his head. 'He really can use it to find you if he has links.'
'What digital passes?'
Yesterday they were also mentioned in the news but I didn't get much from it.
'Haven't you heard of them?' the shopkeeper was astonished. 'It's all over the Internet! We are all outraged by the fact that the government pushed us into digital slavery.'
'Ok. I'll tell you something. I got out of time for a few weeks. I was in a coma. After the fight with my ex-husband. When I started getting better, my doctor's order was to avoid watching the news, and I had no opportunity to read them because my ex also had broken my cell on that night when I got into an ICU. That's why I'm here – to buy a new phone.'
The shopkeeper's eyes widened.
'This asshole should be in jail! I know what you mean. My stepfather was the same, always put his hands on my mom, and she used to take a beating and to forgive him. I wouldn't wish such a childhood on anyone when you live every day steeping on a volcano, totally dependant on this jerk's mood. Thank God, he was hit by a car and died. My mom never would have left him on her own.'
'It's awful! What digital passes you were talking about?'
'You won't be able to move through the city without a digital pass. They will start working this week.'
'How to get it?'
'You need to register on mos.ru and enter your full name, passport number, date of birth, license plate number of your car, or a number of your Troika card.'
So that's why the cashier in the subway advised me to buy a ticket "Troika"!
'And what if you don't have a digital pass?'
'Then you will get fined. Cops will check everyone at every step. As if these digital passes will save us from Covid. I think the governments intimidate us on purpose to impose digital passes and to track our every move.
I heard him out about a perspective of the upcoming digital slavery, and contrary to the rules the guy sold me two unregistered SIM cards – one for Xiaomi and one for a simple Nokia.
On my way to the hotel, I decided to take advantage of the taxi driver's offer. After a conversation with the shopkeeper, I felt the need to change my appearance immediately.
If they found the body, police checked the cameras and have my photos. I'll get more chances to go unnoticed if I dye and cut my hair to the shoulders, put on one-color contact lens and even more chances if I find a face mask.
The taxi driver came in ten minutes and cutting corners in the narrow alleys around the Novoslobodskaya region drove me to the beauty salon that was literally underground – it was placed in the basement of the two-story brick house where I also noticed a drugstore, a butcher shop, and a coffee shop.
While the hairdresser was doing magic with my hair, I checked the crime news on my smartphone. There was nothing about a murder in Biryuzova street.
I took a fashion magazine and started flipping the pages until I bumped into a jewelry ad.
I heard the Blond's voice in my head "She has a space name. Nebula?... Universe?... Galaxy! A jewelry designer or something..."
I googled a jewelry designer Galaxy.
The Blond didn't lie. She really existed! "Designer" was a strong word. She made the imitation jewelry and posted proudly its photos on her self-made website.
I looked at the photos of this girl for a long time.
If I'm Sabrina and this is my friend, why her face doesn't look familiar?
I found her cell number in the contacts of her website. I grabbed my Nokia and called her. I didn't have to persuade Galaxy to meet me. I pretended to be interested in her jewelry for my grandmother's gift, and she was so glad to make some money and made an appointment at 7 p.m. near Auchan on Leningradsky prospect. Probably she decided to combine selling her jewelry with her shopping trip or she set up a meeting in the supermarket for avoiding the problems with the cops because of the stay-home regime violation.
All of a sudden I felt energized again. I had everything going for me.
If Lady Luck keeps smiling at me, tonight I will know my name.
After my successful visit to the beauty salon where I bought a trendy black face mask, I went back to the hotel with a new look. I liked the feeling of my easy head with that haircut – a shoulder-length long bob and the way my shining auburn tresses were casually framing my face.
Lucky for me, the cellphone store near the metro station was opened. Judging by the cheerful greeting of the shopkeeper in a mask I was the first customer in a very long time.
I told him a sob story that I couldn't register any SIM card in my own name because my ex-husband, a powerful monster and asshole, would track me down again.
'You got a bum deal with these digital passes!' said the guy with sympathy scratching his head. 'He really can use it to find you if he has links.'
'What digital passes?'
Yesterday they were also mentioned in the news but I didn't get much from it.
'Haven't you heard of them?' the shopkeeper was astonished. 'It's all over the Internet! We are all outraged by the fact that the government pushed us into digital slavery.'
'Ok. I'll tell you something. I got out of time for a few weeks. I was in a coma. After the fight with my ex-husband. When I started getting better, my doctor's order was to avoid watching the news, and I had no opportunity to read them because my ex also had broken my cell on that night when I got into an ICU. That's why I'm here – to buy a new phone.'
The shopkeeper's eyes widened.
'This asshole should be in jail! I know what you mean. My stepfather was the same, always put his hands on my mom, and she used to take a beating and to forgive him. I wouldn't wish such a childhood on anyone when you live every day steeping on a volcano, totally dependant on this jerk's mood. Thank God, he was hit by a car and died. My mom never would have left him on her own.'
'It's awful! What digital passes you were talking about?'
'You won't be able to move through the city without a digital pass. They will start working this week.'
'How to get it?'
'You need to register on mos.ru and enter your full name, passport number, date of birth, license plate number of your car, or a number of your Troika card.'
So that's why the cashier in the subway advised me to buy a ticket "Troika"!
'And what if you don't have a digital pass?'
'Then you will get fined. Cops will check everyone at every step. As if these digital passes will save us from Covid. I think the governments intimidate us on purpose to impose digital passes and to track our every move.
I heard him out about a perspective of the upcoming digital slavery, and contrary to the rules the guy sold me two unregistered SIM cards – one for Xiaomi and one for a simple Nokia.
On my way to the hotel, I decided to take advantage of the taxi driver's offer. After a conversation with the shopkeeper, I felt the need to change my appearance immediately.
If they found the body, police checked the cameras and have my photos. I'll get more chances to go unnoticed if I dye and cut my hair to the shoulders, put on one-color contact lens and even more chances if I find a face mask.
The taxi driver came in ten minutes and cutting corners in the narrow alleys around the Novoslobodskaya region drove me to the beauty salon that was literally underground – it was placed in the basement of the two-story brick house where I also noticed a drugstore, a butcher shop, and a coffee shop.
While the hairdresser was doing magic with my hair, I checked the crime news on my smartphone. There was nothing about a murder in Biryuzova street.
I took a fashion magazine and started flipping the pages until I bumped into a jewelry ad.
I heard the Blond's voice in my head "She has a space name. Nebula?... Universe?... Galaxy! A jewelry designer or something..."
I googled a jewelry designer Galaxy.
The Blond didn't lie. She really existed! "Designer" was a strong word. She made the imitation jewelry and posted proudly its photos on her self-made website.
I looked at the photos of this girl for a long time.
If I'm Sabrina and this is my friend, why her face doesn't look familiar?
I found her cell number in the contacts of her website. I grabbed my Nokia and called her. I didn't have to persuade Galaxy to meet me. I pretended to be interested in her jewelry for my grandmother's gift, and she was so glad to make some money and made an appointment at 7 p.m. near Auchan on Leningradsky prospect. Probably she decided to combine selling her jewelry with her shopping trip or she set up a meeting in the supermarket for avoiding the problems with the cops because of the stay-home regime violation.
All of a sudden I felt energized again. I had everything going for me.
If Lady Luck keeps smiling at me, tonight I will know my name.
After my successful visit to the beauty salon where I bought a trendy black face mask, I went back to the hotel with a new look. I liked the feeling of my easy head with that haircut – a shoulder-length long bob and the way my shining auburn tresses were casually framing my face.
I hoped to get a new message from Nikita, but the concierge at the reception had nothing for me, except my contact lens. I ordered the dark grey color like the cloudy autumn sky. I paid for it to the concierge, tipped her well and went to my room.
I had three hours before meeting Galaxy. I rang room service, ordered dinner, and turned the TV on. All news channels reported about COVID-19 current situation and the new cases, and to stay positive, I left Muz-TV. With my new haircut, I wanted to fool around in front of the mirror acting like a rock star.
I was starving but I couldn't eat a cold borsch with a salted roast. Yandex Maps showed me the nearest café in the next building. I liked its name - "Le Petit Prince", and its menu impressed me too. I decided not to wait for a delivery and to go myself as soon as the girl from the room service came to take away the food.
'So, you didn't like it?' she asked when she noticed that I hadn't eaten a thing.
'I just lost my appetite,' I didn't want to go into the details and put two hundred rubles to hurry her.
'Thank you! Between you and me, this information is not for everyone but in case you are interested, the bar on the tenth floor is open 24 hours a day. It can look closed but knock on the door and say a code word "Gunther".'
'Gunther? What does it mean?'
'Nothing. It's a barista's name at Central Perk in Friends. Our bartender likes it.'
I found "Le Petit Prince" three minutes' walk from the hotel. I imagined something like a drive-through but the café was opened, only the area with the tables was fenced off with the stands decorated with the illustrations of Antoine de Saint-Exupery himself, and a space in front of a display case was marked with the separators to remind the customers to keep the distance.
While waiting for my order - fettuccini with mussels, I looked through a crime column. I hoped that the murder on Biryuzova street had already been mentioned and I could get any information about the dead guy. But there was nothing at all.
Maybe the body is not found yet?
I continued scrolling the news feed and saw on Yandex Zen a post about a friendship of the goat Timur and the tiger Amur that created a sensation a few years ago. It was a fantastic story – a goat was led up to a tiger as food, but the horny animal not only gave battle to the predator but also invaded his sleeping area and made him sleep outside all night long. But the most impressive thing was that after all the goat named Timur for his bravery and the tiger Amur became friends. But the experts claimed that if the goat recalled even just for a moment that he was a victim, the tiger would scent it and bite him to death.
So it meant that while Timur was thinking that he controlled the situation, that's the way it was – he stayed alive, he enjoyed his life and everything was fine.
I needed to do the same.
If I go soft, they will get me cornered. No way! I'm not a victim! I will not go down without a fight!
I surfed the Internet waves from one link to another one and at the moment when I was wading through the jungle of the political news, I realized that I wanted a blueberry muffin with a scoop of pistachio ice cream. I made an order and was ready to dive again in the ocean of web news, but a skinny Japanese-like girl standing near the stand with Le Petit Prince attracted my attention. She looked funny in a black beret with a striped scarf wrapped around her long neck, à la Parisian artist, and a turquoise-golden mask in the style of the famous sleep mask from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" on her face. Her eyes were amazingly green like emeralds.
Also contact lens?
I had three hours before meeting Galaxy. I rang room service, ordered dinner, and turned the TV on. All news channels reported about COVID-19 current situation and the new cases, and to stay positive, I left Muz-TV. With my new haircut, I wanted to fool around in front of the mirror acting like a rock star.
I was starving but I couldn't eat a cold borsch with a salted roast. Yandex Maps showed me the nearest café in the next building. I liked its name - "Le Petit Prince", and its menu impressed me too. I decided not to wait for a delivery and to go myself as soon as the girl from the room service came to take away the food.
'So, you didn't like it?' she asked when she noticed that I hadn't eaten a thing.
'I just lost my appetite,' I didn't want to go into the details and put two hundred rubles to hurry her.
'Thank you! Between you and me, this information is not for everyone but in case you are interested, the bar on the tenth floor is open 24 hours a day. It can look closed but knock on the door and say a code word "Gunther".'
'Gunther? What does it mean?'
'Nothing. It's a barista's name at Central Perk in Friends. Our bartender likes it.'
I found "Le Petit Prince" three minutes' walk from the hotel. I imagined something like a drive-through but the café was opened, only the area with the tables was fenced off with the stands decorated with the illustrations of Antoine de Saint-Exupery himself, and a space in front of a display case was marked with the separators to remind the customers to keep the distance.
While waiting for my order - fettuccini with mussels, I looked through a crime column. I hoped that the murder on Biryuzova street had already been mentioned and I could get any information about the dead guy. But there was nothing at all.
Maybe the body is not found yet?
I continued scrolling the news feed and saw on Yandex Zen a post about a friendship of the goat Timur and the tiger Amur that created a sensation a few years ago. It was a fantastic story – a goat was led up to a tiger as food, but the horny animal not only gave battle to the predator but also invaded his sleeping area and made him sleep outside all night long. But the most impressive thing was that after all the goat named Timur for his bravery and the tiger Amur became friends. But the experts claimed that if the goat recalled even just for a moment that he was a victim, the tiger would scent it and bite him to death.
So it meant that while Timur was thinking that he controlled the situation, that's the way it was – he stayed alive, he enjoyed his life and everything was fine.
I needed to do the same.
If I go soft, they will get me cornered. No way! I'm not a victim! I will not go down without a fight!
I surfed the Internet waves from one link to another one and at the moment when I was wading through the jungle of the political news, I realized that I wanted a blueberry muffin with a scoop of pistachio ice cream. I made an order and was ready to dive again in the ocean of web news, but a skinny Japanese-like girl standing near the stand with Le Petit Prince attracted my attention. She looked funny in a black beret with a striped scarf wrapped around her long neck, à la Parisian artist, and a turquoise-golden mask in the style of the famous sleep mask from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" on her face. Her eyes were amazingly green like emeralds.
Also contact lens?
The girl was holding her phone up high as if she was going to take selfies, and talking into the camera in pure Russian.
'No, guys, I'll post a new story on Saturday, as usual... Masha Arda, you are awesome! I've never met such a warm-hearted, charitable person who helps the homeless animals as you do! Thank you so much!... Ok, next question. What I've been working at right now? Well, let's say that it's a case about the stolen jewels... Shakh15, I will block you!... So, what I was talking about? Аh, that's right, about my new investigation... No, LeonParay, I can't tell its details right now. You can read about it later on my blog...'
'It's Nomad Belka, blogger,' whispered the girl who was packing my muffin into a box. 'She's chatting on Instagram with her followers. Belka lives the next door and comes here almost every day or orders a delivery.'
My fettuccini was not ready yet, so I decided to have some fun. I downloaded Instagram and found Nomad Belka. She had more than 20 thousand followers.
I texted a comment "Tie your right boot" from my empty account without any photo named Nameless and giggled to myself when Belka discovered that the shoelace was untied indeed. She looked around surprised but all clients waiting for the orders were glued to their cells.
"Don't look for me. Big Brother is watching you."
I sent another message in pursuit.
'I see there's George Orwell's fan. Nameless, you can join me. We'll discuss "1984" together,' said the blogger.
Finally, at that moment they brought my fettuccini from the kitchen, so I tapped "Maybe next time", took my paper bag, and left the café.
I came to the shopping mall "Gagarinsky" fifteen minutes before the meeting. Most probably in the old days, it was a crowded and noisy place but now when only "Auchan", a pharmacy, the phone and pet shops were open, I didn't meet there a lot of people.
Galaxy was already standing near the entrance of the supermarket, talking on the phone. I stopped to watch her closely, trying to shake up my memory and to catch something familiar in her face but in vain. Sabrina's friend was squabbling with someone, tapping nervously her bottle of water on the handle of the grocery cart. She didn't suspect that someone was keeping an eye on her.
When Galaxy scolded and hang up the phone, I went up to her.
At the sight of me, she broke into a beaming smile and pecked me on the cheek.
'Is it a prank, sweetie? What exclusive necklace for your grandma? Do you really think that I didn't recognize your voice? I love your new hair! Pierre's doing? By the way, when did you come back to Moscow?'
WTF?! And who is fucking Pierre?
'I... I really would like to talk about your necklace. You got the wrong person.' I murmured confusedly.
'Sure, Sabi, it's a kind of "Smile, you're on candid camera"?' Galaxy giggled. 'For sure, I'm a stupid blondie but not so brain-dead to believe in this prank. Kind of the reptiloids kidnapped Sabrina, and you are her clone? Bloggers are going nuts with this story that the aliens captured the Earth.'
I examined her face. She looked pretty convincing.
So I'm Sabrina? But why I remember nothing?
'Ok, Galaxy, I'll tell you what happened to me...'
But before I finished, she interrupted me with horror in her eyes and grabbed my hand.
'Sabi, I'm such an idiot! How could I not notice? Your belly!'
I was completely at a loss.
How does my belly come into the picture?!
'What's wrong with it?' I was scared.
'Have you already given birth? Wait! There were no congratulation posts on Facebook. Оh my God! You've lost your baby! Sabi, sweetie, I'm so sorry!'
I looked at her dumbfounded, feeling that my mind was ready to blow up.
'What baby?'
'Yours. And Nikita's.'
'And who is Nikita?!'
'Your husband! Last week you both went to Sochi, your native town, to prepare for delivery. What happened? When did you give birth?'
Without asking I grabbed Galaxy's bottle of water and took a few swigs.
WTF?! Do I have a baby?!
At that moment my eyes caught a couple wandering around the supermarket with a grocery cart where I saw a bottle of champagne among the food, and suddenly it came up to my mind - a dead guy in that apartment and a bottle of Moët & Chandon with two flutes on the table.
I couldn't breathe. My brain was dashing to pieces. The world was going dark. But Galaxy was still talking a mile a minute right into my face.
'Sabi, honey, I'll call Nikita, he will take you home. Or I'd better do it myself. You are a mess.'
Her endless chatter made my head spinning around.
'I need the toilet. I'll be right back.'
I hurried towards the ladies' room under Galaxy's sympathetic gaze. There I rinsed my face with cold water and examined it in the mirror. I looked scared and lost.
I can't be Sabrina, the wife of some Nikita. Is he that dead guy from the apartment?
If I'm her, then where is my baby? I gave birth to him, or he died after birth?
Where is Galaxy going to take me? To murdered Nikita's flat? No way! The cops will arrest me and put me in jail!
But maybe I'm not Sabrina? Maybe we just look similar, it happens! I don't look like a woman who was pregnant a few days ago! So I am not Sabrina!
Little by little I calmed down.
It's just a coincidence! I can't have a newborn. Maybe Galaxy is just high if she thinks that I'm her friend Sabrina? It's likely that we are really alike, and as Galaxy is stoned, she believes that I'm Sabrina. I need to stay away from this weird girl.
I turned off the water and left the ladies' room. While Galaxy was again fighting on the phone pushing her grocery cart, I snaked to the entrance, went outside, and got into the Uber I'd ordered earlier.
I came back to the hotel in a bad mood. During the day I was so happy about my progress with Galaxy, things were just starting to get good but again I reached a deadlock. Now I had the only one hope that mysterious Nikita had left a new message. But he didn't.
I looked so upset that the concierge gave me a glossy celebrity magazine trying to cheer me up.
'It's hot from the press.'
I grabbed it and headed towards the elevator. In the lift cage, to get my mind off my thoughts, I started flipping through a magazine, and suddenly my eyes caught a glimpse of something weird.
Thrilled, I turned the pages back and in the gossip column, I saw my photo in the silk dress which I was wearing yesterday when I woke up in that strange apartment. There I was standing on the arm of a young man whose face looked familiar.
'Singer Max Korsakov and his girlfriend,' I read under the photo.
'No, guys, I'll post a new story on Saturday, as usual... Masha Arda, you are awesome! I've never met such a warm-hearted, charitable person who helps the homeless animals as you do! Thank you so much!... Ok, next question. What I've been working at right now? Well, let's say that it's a case about the stolen jewels... Shakh15, I will block you!... So, what I was talking about? Аh, that's right, about my new investigation... No, LeonParay, I can't tell its details right now. You can read about it later on my blog...'
'It's Nomad Belka, blogger,' whispered the girl who was packing my muffin into a box. 'She's chatting on Instagram with her followers. Belka lives the next door and comes here almost every day or orders a delivery.'
My fettuccini was not ready yet, so I decided to have some fun. I downloaded Instagram and found Nomad Belka. She had more than 20 thousand followers.
I texted a comment "Tie your right boot" from my empty account without any photo named Nameless and giggled to myself when Belka discovered that the shoelace was untied indeed. She looked around surprised but all clients waiting for the orders were glued to their cells.
"Don't look for me. Big Brother is watching you."
I sent another message in pursuit.
'I see there's George Orwell's fan. Nameless, you can join me. We'll discuss "1984" together,' said the blogger.
Finally, at that moment they brought my fettuccini from the kitchen, so I tapped "Maybe next time", took my paper bag, and left the café.
I came to the shopping mall "Gagarinsky" fifteen minutes before the meeting. Most probably in the old days, it was a crowded and noisy place but now when only "Auchan", a pharmacy, the phone and pet shops were open, I didn't meet there a lot of people.
Galaxy was already standing near the entrance of the supermarket, talking on the phone. I stopped to watch her closely, trying to shake up my memory and to catch something familiar in her face but in vain. Sabrina's friend was squabbling with someone, tapping nervously her bottle of water on the handle of the grocery cart. She didn't suspect that someone was keeping an eye on her.
When Galaxy scolded and hang up the phone, I went up to her.
At the sight of me, she broke into a beaming smile and pecked me on the cheek.
'Is it a prank, sweetie? What exclusive necklace for your grandma? Do you really think that I didn't recognize your voice? I love your new hair! Pierre's doing? By the way, when did you come back to Moscow?'
WTF?! And who is fucking Pierre?
'I... I really would like to talk about your necklace. You got the wrong person.' I murmured confusedly.
'Sure, Sabi, it's a kind of "Smile, you're on candid camera"?' Galaxy giggled. 'For sure, I'm a stupid blondie but not so brain-dead to believe in this prank. Kind of the reptiloids kidnapped Sabrina, and you are her clone? Bloggers are going nuts with this story that the aliens captured the Earth.'
I examined her face. She looked pretty convincing.
So I'm Sabrina? But why I remember nothing?
'Ok, Galaxy, I'll tell you what happened to me...'
But before I finished, she interrupted me with horror in her eyes and grabbed my hand.
'Sabi, I'm such an idiot! How could I not notice? Your belly!'
I was completely at a loss.
How does my belly come into the picture?!
'What's wrong with it?' I was scared.
'Have you already given birth? Wait! There were no congratulation posts on Facebook. Оh my God! You've lost your baby! Sabi, sweetie, I'm so sorry!'
I looked at her dumbfounded, feeling that my mind was ready to blow up.
'What baby?'
'Yours. And Nikita's.'
'And who is Nikita?!'
'Your husband! Last week you both went to Sochi, your native town, to prepare for delivery. What happened? When did you give birth?'
Without asking I grabbed Galaxy's bottle of water and took a few swigs.
WTF?! Do I have a baby?!
At that moment my eyes caught a couple wandering around the supermarket with a grocery cart where I saw a bottle of champagne among the food, and suddenly it came up to my mind - a dead guy in that apartment and a bottle of Moët & Chandon with two flutes on the table.
I couldn't breathe. My brain was dashing to pieces. The world was going dark. But Galaxy was still talking a mile a minute right into my face.
'Sabi, honey, I'll call Nikita, he will take you home. Or I'd better do it myself. You are a mess.'
Her endless chatter made my head spinning around.
'I need the toilet. I'll be right back.'
I hurried towards the ladies' room under Galaxy's sympathetic gaze. There I rinsed my face with cold water and examined it in the mirror. I looked scared and lost.
I can't be Sabrina, the wife of some Nikita. Is he that dead guy from the apartment?
If I'm her, then where is my baby? I gave birth to him, or he died after birth?
Where is Galaxy going to take me? To murdered Nikita's flat? No way! The cops will arrest me and put me in jail!
But maybe I'm not Sabrina? Maybe we just look similar, it happens! I don't look like a woman who was pregnant a few days ago! So I am not Sabrina!
Little by little I calmed down.
It's just a coincidence! I can't have a newborn. Maybe Galaxy is just high if she thinks that I'm her friend Sabrina? It's likely that we are really alike, and as Galaxy is stoned, she believes that I'm Sabrina. I need to stay away from this weird girl.
I turned off the water and left the ladies' room. While Galaxy was again fighting on the phone pushing her grocery cart, I snaked to the entrance, went outside, and got into the Uber I'd ordered earlier.
I came back to the hotel in a bad mood. During the day I was so happy about my progress with Galaxy, things were just starting to get good but again I reached a deadlock. Now I had the only one hope that mysterious Nikita had left a new message. But he didn't.
I looked so upset that the concierge gave me a glossy celebrity magazine trying to cheer me up.
'It's hot from the press.'
I grabbed it and headed towards the elevator. In the lift cage, to get my mind off my thoughts, I started flipping through a magazine, and suddenly my eyes caught a glimpse of something weird.
Thrilled, I turned the pages back and in the gossip column, I saw my photo in the silk dress which I was wearing yesterday when I woke up in that strange apartment. There I was standing on the arm of a young man whose face looked familiar.
'Singer Max Korsakov and his girlfriend,' I read under the photo.
5.
I couldn't believe it!
How come I'm in the famous magazine with the pop-star from TV mentioned as his girlfriend?
The issue was new. My clon didn't have a pregnant belly. The dress was mine. So it was not Galaxy's friend.
Is she me?
I entered my room and plopped down on the bed.
Hour after hour this ball of riddles and puzzles becomes more complicated. What I gonna do now? Chase Korsakov and ask him my name?
Why not?
I grabbed my smartphone and found his website, checked the "Contacts", and saw what I needed - his manager's phone number. That was a person who could help me!
'Hi, Marina! I'm an editor of a new weekly magazine "Star's Love Story". We would like to interview Max and his girlfriend from shooting the show on the anniversary of a producer Rodion Larin. By the way, what is her name?'
'Hi! I've never heard about this magazine. E-mail me please about it and send a link to your website. We'll discuss your offer with Max and I let you know our decision.'
'Hmm... Sounds great!... But for now could you please tell the girl's name?'
'You will get all information you need in case Max accepts your offer. Sorry, I've got to go. Bye!'
The manager hung up.
'Fuck!'
I couldn't manage to outsmart her. No doubt, the yellow tabloid press tried to find out in all kinds of ways who was Korsakov's new girlfriend. I decided that she (me?) was new because, otherwise, the magazine would mention her (mine?) name, wouldn't it?
Just in case I googled Max's girlfriends and found a lot of old links to the posts about his affairs with the models, a pop-band singer, and a TV reality star. I checked their photos. There was no me among these girls.
So I'm right. I started dating him not so long ago.
I found information that shooting the show in honor of Rodion Larin took place four days ago.
Really? I was hanging out in that dress for three days?!
What if I was kidnapped? If I'm a pop star's girlfriend, they could do it for ransom and locked me in that apartment! Maybe I was fighting there with my kidnapper and killed him in self-defense? In case if it was me who committed a murder.
And yet, that version went all to pieces. If they kidnapped me, they would have bound my hands and put a sticky tape over my mouth instead of wining me with Moët & Chandon.
I needed to find a way to meet Max Korsakov and to talk to him.
Where can I bump into Mr. Superstar?
I opened again his website and found an announcement of a benefit online-concert at the nightclub "Tonight" on Friday supported by an entertainment TV-channel. Under the conditions of self-isolation, the organizers of the concert didn't invite the audience to the club. They arranged a sale of online-tickets in exchange for a link to connect a concert and were going to give all the money raised to the orphanages for acquiring the personal protective equipment to fight the COVID 19.
I realized that I wouldn't get a chance to sneak into the club, and I even didn't count on it. But now I knew at what place and at what time Korsakov would be available for my try to catch him, for example, near the entrance of "Tonight".
I wrote down on the page of the magazine right under our photo with Max the date, time, and the name of the club not to forget it and put it on the table. All I had to do was to wait four days till Friday!
Inspired by a new lead, I decided to check Galaxy's page on Facebook and to find Sabrina among her friends. It was weird that this idea hadn't come to my mind earlier.
How come I'm in the famous magazine with the pop-star from TV mentioned as his girlfriend?
The issue was new. My clon didn't have a pregnant belly. The dress was mine. So it was not Galaxy's friend.
Is she me?
I entered my room and plopped down on the bed.
Hour after hour this ball of riddles and puzzles becomes more complicated. What I gonna do now? Chase Korsakov and ask him my name?
Why not?
I grabbed my smartphone and found his website, checked the "Contacts", and saw what I needed - his manager's phone number. That was a person who could help me!
'Hi, Marina! I'm an editor of a new weekly magazine "Star's Love Story". We would like to interview Max and his girlfriend from shooting the show on the anniversary of a producer Rodion Larin. By the way, what is her name?'
'Hi! I've never heard about this magazine. E-mail me please about it and send a link to your website. We'll discuss your offer with Max and I let you know our decision.'
'Hmm... Sounds great!... But for now could you please tell the girl's name?'
'You will get all information you need in case Max accepts your offer. Sorry, I've got to go. Bye!'
The manager hung up.
'Fuck!'
I couldn't manage to outsmart her. No doubt, the yellow tabloid press tried to find out in all kinds of ways who was Korsakov's new girlfriend. I decided that she (me?) was new because, otherwise, the magazine would mention her (mine?) name, wouldn't it?
Just in case I googled Max's girlfriends and found a lot of old links to the posts about his affairs with the models, a pop-band singer, and a TV reality star. I checked their photos. There was no me among these girls.
So I'm right. I started dating him not so long ago.
I found information that shooting the show in honor of Rodion Larin took place four days ago.
Really? I was hanging out in that dress for three days?!
What if I was kidnapped? If I'm a pop star's girlfriend, they could do it for ransom and locked me in that apartment! Maybe I was fighting there with my kidnapper and killed him in self-defense? In case if it was me who committed a murder.
And yet, that version went all to pieces. If they kidnapped me, they would have bound my hands and put a sticky tape over my mouth instead of wining me with Moët & Chandon.
I needed to find a way to meet Max Korsakov and to talk to him.
Where can I bump into Mr. Superstar?
I opened again his website and found an announcement of a benefit online-concert at the nightclub "Tonight" on Friday supported by an entertainment TV-channel. Under the conditions of self-isolation, the organizers of the concert didn't invite the audience to the club. They arranged a sale of online-tickets in exchange for a link to connect a concert and were going to give all the money raised to the orphanages for acquiring the personal protective equipment to fight the COVID 19.
I realized that I wouldn't get a chance to sneak into the club, and I even didn't count on it. But now I knew at what place and at what time Korsakov would be available for my try to catch him, for example, near the entrance of "Tonight".
I wrote down on the page of the magazine right under our photo with Max the date, time, and the name of the club not to forget it and put it on the table. All I had to do was to wait four days till Friday!
Inspired by a new lead, I decided to check Galaxy's page on Facebook and to find Sabrina among her friends. It was weird that this idea hadn't come to my mind earlier.
Sabrina bore a striking resemblance to me! As if that girl was really my clon!
How is that possible?
I began examining her eyes on the photos.
If she has brown and green-grey eyes, she is definitly me!
But my searches were unsuccessful. Sabrina had different colors of her eyes on every photo - blue, green, brown, grey, black and even violet. It looked like she was a fan of contact lens.
There was no much information about her in the public domain. Sabrina Kurkova was born in Moscow, attended the school of International Business and Business Administration at MGIMO University, and two years ago in 2018 married Nikita Kurkov.
I scrolled down her Facebook feed and saw a funny meme about Meghan Markle reposted from Sabrina's Twitter. I clicked it and found her last tweet:
"My love and me at the show in honor of Rodion Larin".
The most exciting thing was that she posted it four days ago!
I stared at her last tweet and fell out of time and space. A million thoughts were seething madly in my brain, one more insane than another. It couldn't be just a coincidence!
So Sabrina gave up tweeting four days ago. Exactly on that day when I disappeared judging by the fact that I woke up in the same dress from shooting Larin's show. We both visited the same event at the same time.
Does it mean that I'm Sabrina?
I leaned back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. I had no idea where to find the answers to all these questions, and all that drove me crazy.
No way I'm Sabrina. She was in the final months of pregnancy. But there is no belly in the photo with Korsakov. The last time the belly was seen about two weeks ago at Eric's birthday party out of town where she was with Galaxy. Then, four days ago, she (or me?) was posing with Korsakov at Rodion Larin's Jubilee already without a belly. In theory, in that period between two parties, Sabrina could give birth and leave the hospital.
But then where is a baby? Is he alive? If something happened to the baby or he's dead, then it's weird that Sabrina was hanging out in the evening gown, especially during the self-isolation.
Or, the other way around, she could go out to get distracted from her tragedy.
Or she wasn't pregnant at all and just for some reason simulated it? No, it's stupid! Then Sabrina would use a false belly at Larin's party as she knew that there would be paparazzi all around.
No, it still doesn't match up. If I'm Sabrina, why on earth I went out with Korsakov instead of my husband Nikita? Moreover, tweeted "My love". Or did they break up with Nikita?
Sure! After the loss of their baby, Sabrina decided to leave Nikita and stopped hiding her relations with Korsakov. It means that if I'm Sabrina, I was pregnant and I was cheating on my husband.
Or everything is fine with a baby and on that evening her husband Nikita was babysitting at home while Sabrina (or me?) was hanging out with Korsakov?
I groaned. There was a total mess in my head. Not a single thing that made sense. I was tired, and my mind was refusing to work.
I need to go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.
When I was trying to fall asleep, I recalled that I hadn't seen the photos of Sabrina's/my husband.
I opened her Facebook page again and found the album "Wedding".
Nikita didn't look like that dead guy, and his face wasn't familiar to me. So the good news was that Sabrina was not a widow.
Or I'm not a widow?
I woke up in that strange apartment yesterday, but I had the feeling that it had happened a few days ago. And I had no idea what to expect.
When will my memory come back?
Thinking about I fell asleep.
And for the first time since I remembered me, I saw a dream.
I'm a little girl, about 7-9 years old. I lie on the carpet with a book and a fruit plate in front of me. I read and eat a peach.
My nose catches a delicious flavor from the kitchen. I hear my mummy singing while she's cooking a celebratory dinner. We both are in a great mood, in expectation of something amazing that is meant to happen today.
Then my mom comes into the room.
'Princess, it turns out that we haven't enough flour for a cake. Do you want to stay here alone for ten minutes or will you go with me?'
I shake my head no and go on reading. I'm too much in it.
She kisses me and leaves. I hear my mummy running downstairs. Then suddenly she screams. From the entrance hall comes a noise as we live on the first floor, and I hear the sounds of the fight, the bumps into the banister, a crash of mailboxes, and banging of a front door.
I drop the toys and head to the window, climb a chair, and look outside. As I already mentioned, we live on the first floor, and the rich emerald green foliage of the poplars doesn't prevent me from watching two men tousling my mom to the dark truck. And then I notice a bloodstain sprawling on her sky-blue dress over her belly...
How is that possible?
I began examining her eyes on the photos.
If she has brown and green-grey eyes, she is definitly me!
But my searches were unsuccessful. Sabrina had different colors of her eyes on every photo - blue, green, brown, grey, black and even violet. It looked like she was a fan of contact lens.
There was no much information about her in the public domain. Sabrina Kurkova was born in Moscow, attended the school of International Business and Business Administration at MGIMO University, and two years ago in 2018 married Nikita Kurkov.
I scrolled down her Facebook feed and saw a funny meme about Meghan Markle reposted from Sabrina's Twitter. I clicked it and found her last tweet:
"My love and me at the show in honor of Rodion Larin".
The most exciting thing was that she posted it four days ago!
I stared at her last tweet and fell out of time and space. A million thoughts were seething madly in my brain, one more insane than another. It couldn't be just a coincidence!
So Sabrina gave up tweeting four days ago. Exactly on that day when I disappeared judging by the fact that I woke up in the same dress from shooting Larin's show. We both visited the same event at the same time.
Does it mean that I'm Sabrina?
I leaned back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. I had no idea where to find the answers to all these questions, and all that drove me crazy.
No way I'm Sabrina. She was in the final months of pregnancy. But there is no belly in the photo with Korsakov. The last time the belly was seen about two weeks ago at Eric's birthday party out of town where she was with Galaxy. Then, four days ago, she (or me?) was posing with Korsakov at Rodion Larin's Jubilee already without a belly. In theory, in that period between two parties, Sabrina could give birth and leave the hospital.
But then where is a baby? Is he alive? If something happened to the baby or he's dead, then it's weird that Sabrina was hanging out in the evening gown, especially during the self-isolation.
Or, the other way around, she could go out to get distracted from her tragedy.
Or she wasn't pregnant at all and just for some reason simulated it? No, it's stupid! Then Sabrina would use a false belly at Larin's party as she knew that there would be paparazzi all around.
No, it still doesn't match up. If I'm Sabrina, why on earth I went out with Korsakov instead of my husband Nikita? Moreover, tweeted "My love". Or did they break up with Nikita?
Sure! After the loss of their baby, Sabrina decided to leave Nikita and stopped hiding her relations with Korsakov. It means that if I'm Sabrina, I was pregnant and I was cheating on my husband.
Or everything is fine with a baby and on that evening her husband Nikita was babysitting at home while Sabrina (or me?) was hanging out with Korsakov?
I groaned. There was a total mess in my head. Not a single thing that made sense. I was tired, and my mind was refusing to work.
I need to go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.
When I was trying to fall asleep, I recalled that I hadn't seen the photos of Sabrina's/my husband.
I opened her Facebook page again and found the album "Wedding".
Nikita didn't look like that dead guy, and his face wasn't familiar to me. So the good news was that Sabrina was not a widow.
Or I'm not a widow?
I woke up in that strange apartment yesterday, but I had the feeling that it had happened a few days ago. And I had no idea what to expect.
When will my memory come back?
Thinking about I fell asleep.
And for the first time since I remembered me, I saw a dream.
I'm a little girl, about 7-9 years old. I lie on the carpet with a book and a fruit plate in front of me. I read and eat a peach.
My nose catches a delicious flavor from the kitchen. I hear my mummy singing while she's cooking a celebratory dinner. We both are in a great mood, in expectation of something amazing that is meant to happen today.
Then my mom comes into the room.
'Princess, it turns out that we haven't enough flour for a cake. Do you want to stay here alone for ten minutes or will you go with me?'
I shake my head no and go on reading. I'm too much in it.
She kisses me and leaves. I hear my mummy running downstairs. Then suddenly she screams. From the entrance hall comes a noise as we live on the first floor, and I hear the sounds of the fight, the bumps into the banister, a crash of mailboxes, and banging of a front door.
I drop the toys and head to the window, climb a chair, and look outside. As I already mentioned, we live on the first floor, and the rich emerald green foliage of the poplars doesn't prevent me from watching two men tousling my mom to the dark truck. And then I notice a bloodstain sprawling on her sky-blue dress over her belly...
6.
''Mammy! Mammy! Let her go!'
I screamed in terror and woke up in a hotel room watering my pillow with tears. Even after that, I was still murmuring "Let my mommy go!" until I finally realized that it was just a nightmare.
I grabbed my cell. 02.05 a.m. The sleep vanished as if by magic.
What does this dream mean? Is it just a reflection of my fears? I'm like a little girl, alone in a big-big world where somebody wants to hurt me, and I have no mom by my side who can protect and support me.
I decided to go downstairs to the "underground" bar on the 10-the floor. I needed a stiff drink. I put on my jeans and a sweatshirt, took cash, and left the room.
In the elevator cab, I met an elderly couple. They were quarreling, and my presence didn't embarrass them at all.
'You've been played like a puppet! Unbelievable! Fifty thousand down the drain!' the woman hissed furiously.
'Shut up! It's all your fault! It was your brilliant idea to come here!'
I liked living at the hotel – there I had everything on hand. I didn't need a taxi to get into the bar; all I needed to do was to press an elevator button. But on the other hand, it was a bit steep! I paid for three nights a monthly rent for a studio apartment.
Suddenly it struck me.
I can ask the taxi driver to help me with a flat! He's a go-getter. Maybe he has connections at the real estate agencies. Lucky me that I didn't throw out his phone number. I'll call him tomorrow morning.
I left the elevator cab on the 10-the floor, and only near the bar, it hit me that a quarreling couple was speaking French.
WTF? Do I speak French?? How come do I know it?
Did I learn it at MGIMO? Am I Sabrina?
Same old story. These questions in my head were shouting all together in chorus, and all I wanted was to put on blinders and earmuffs and to stay in total silence. If only I could stop my thoughts!
With a help of a magic password "Gunther", I got into the bar. It was pretty crowded there. I didn't notice masks on their faces. Probably they didn't believe in viruses and thought that it was just a way of manipulation to intimidate the people and to digitize them.
I came up to the barrack and ordered a bottle of Redd's.
'Long day?' A young man with a pearly white smile sat down next to me.
'Sort of.'
'If you need to speak out, I'm your man!' The stranger showed his shining teeth.
He looked so nice and friendly as if we knew each other for ages. The guy had charisma, and perhaps the dozens of girls had fallen victim to his charm. But I was not in the mood for flirting with a hotel Casanova.
'No offense, but I don't need your company.'
'Ok, sweetie. But first, we'll go upstairs, and you will give me something that belongs to us. You know what I mean.'
This time Casanova said it without a smile. His look became cold and ruthless. He took a step backward and flung his coat open to show his gun as if saying he was not one to be trifled with.
Crap! Again I've got into a mess! What should I do now???
I smiled in reply. It would be foolish to argue with someone who holds you at gunpoint and judging by the expression on his face Casanova was pretty resolute. It was hard to believe that a few moments ago that guy was smiling at me.
And finally, a long-expected silence fell over my head. My thoughts froze, and I heard Suzanne Vega's sweet voice on the radio.
I screamed in terror and woke up in a hotel room watering my pillow with tears. Even after that, I was still murmuring "Let my mommy go!" until I finally realized that it was just a nightmare.
I grabbed my cell. 02.05 a.m. The sleep vanished as if by magic.
What does this dream mean? Is it just a reflection of my fears? I'm like a little girl, alone in a big-big world where somebody wants to hurt me, and I have no mom by my side who can protect and support me.
I decided to go downstairs to the "underground" bar on the 10-the floor. I needed a stiff drink. I put on my jeans and a sweatshirt, took cash, and left the room.
In the elevator cab, I met an elderly couple. They were quarreling, and my presence didn't embarrass them at all.
'You've been played like a puppet! Unbelievable! Fifty thousand down the drain!' the woman hissed furiously.
'Shut up! It's all your fault! It was your brilliant idea to come here!'
I liked living at the hotel – there I had everything on hand. I didn't need a taxi to get into the bar; all I needed to do was to press an elevator button. But on the other hand, it was a bit steep! I paid for three nights a monthly rent for a studio apartment.
Suddenly it struck me.
I can ask the taxi driver to help me with a flat! He's a go-getter. Maybe he has connections at the real estate agencies. Lucky me that I didn't throw out his phone number. I'll call him tomorrow morning.
I left the elevator cab on the 10-the floor, and only near the bar, it hit me that a quarreling couple was speaking French.
WTF? Do I speak French?? How come do I know it?
Did I learn it at MGIMO? Am I Sabrina?
Same old story. These questions in my head were shouting all together in chorus, and all I wanted was to put on blinders and earmuffs and to stay in total silence. If only I could stop my thoughts!
With a help of a magic password "Gunther", I got into the bar. It was pretty crowded there. I didn't notice masks on their faces. Probably they didn't believe in viruses and thought that it was just a way of manipulation to intimidate the people and to digitize them.
I came up to the barrack and ordered a bottle of Redd's.
'Long day?' A young man with a pearly white smile sat down next to me.
'Sort of.'
'If you need to speak out, I'm your man!' The stranger showed his shining teeth.
He looked so nice and friendly as if we knew each other for ages. The guy had charisma, and perhaps the dozens of girls had fallen victim to his charm. But I was not in the mood for flirting with a hotel Casanova.
'No offense, but I don't need your company.'
'Ok, sweetie. But first, we'll go upstairs, and you will give me something that belongs to us. You know what I mean.'
This time Casanova said it without a smile. His look became cold and ruthless. He took a step backward and flung his coat open to show his gun as if saying he was not one to be trifled with.
Crap! Again I've got into a mess! What should I do now???
I smiled in reply. It would be foolish to argue with someone who holds you at gunpoint and judging by the expression on his face Casanova was pretty resolute. It was hard to believe that a few moments ago that guy was smiling at me.
And finally, a long-expected silence fell over my head. My thoughts froze, and I heard Suzanne Vega's sweet voice on the radio.
My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble. some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was...
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble. some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was...
'Ok,' I cashed out and grabbed my bottle of Redd's. 'Will your babysitters join us?'
I pointed at two thugs at the table not far from the bar counter who were keeping an eye on us.
Casanova ignored my question.
'Leave the bottle here.'
'Security measures?' I laughed. 'My Redd's VS your TT.'
Stop! How come I know that his gun is TT?
'Shut up! Let's go!'
Escorted by three strangers, I left the bar and directed towards the lift.
Fine! Now they will take all the cash, and what am I gonna do?
But how did they find me? I wasn't followed.
What if there is a microchip in me?!
That made me feel creepy.
No way! It's impossible! They could follow me from the apartment to the shopping mall. There they saw me taking a taxi, then tracked down the number of the car, and the driver threw me under the bus. That's it!
In the elevator cab, I turned to Casanova.
'Do you know my name?'
'Trying to intimidate us? It's not going to work! We don't care who your parents, brothers, boyfriends, or whoever you mean are. You took something that belongs to us. And we will take it back anyway.'
His teeth were shining so gloriously that I felt like busting in his jaw to watch a flight of his pearls.
What a jerk! He decided that I'm threatening, but all I need is to hear my name.
'I see. You don't know,' I chuckled, pretending I didn't care.
'We do. Your name is Bitch!' said one of the thugs with a short thick neck goffered with the rolls of fat in the back of his head.
At that moment the elevator cab stopped, and he pushed me out into the corridor.
'Hey, go easy!' I pushed him back. 'Hands off or you'll get problems.'
Casanova burst out laughing.
'Do you know who you are threatening? If Python just blows towards you, it will be enough to nail your balls to the wall.'
'Well, you know best. Sorry for your balls'.
The second thug roared with laughter.
'Shut up!' Casanova hissed at him angrily. 'Move on! I'm already sick of this place!'
I fished a key card from my pocket and went inside the first. The trio followed me. I passed into the room and plopped down on the sofa.
'Take whatever you want!'
'What do you mean?' Casanova frowned. He didn't get what was going on.
'Well, I take a lot of stuff that doesn't belong to me. I don't know what exactly you want.'
'Something from the apartment on Biryuzova street.'
'Aaah, I see! I hid it in the bathroom. I'll bring it. Wait here!'
I jumped up and headed towards the bathroom, but Casanova wasn't going to obey my order and followed me.
At the moment when he entered the bathroom after me, I suddenly stopped dead, and the guy almost bumped into me. Quick as thought, I did a U-turn, kneed him in the groin, and seizing the moment when Casanova doubled over in pain, drew his gun, released the safety catch, and pulled it on him. Taken by surprise, he scrunched his face, and all his charm melted away.
'Move your ass!' I pointed him to the door of the bathroom.
The thugs' mouths dropped open when they saw their boss at gunpoint. Both of them couldn't figure out what had happened as we left the room only a few moments ago. Their facial expression was so stupid that I couldn't help laughing.
'Put your guns down on the floor! Otherwise, your buddy will go to say hello to Fedya Tokarev. I mean to the afterlife.'
'Who is fucking Fedya?' Python asked me frowning.
'The guy who designed TT and died about fifty years ago. So put down the guns and cellphones if you don't want to see your friend shot.'
OMG! How come I know about this Tokarev?!
'Do what she says!' Casanova went into hysterics.
Through gritted teeth, the thugs put down their Glocks 17 and phones.
'Now take off your belts. Put your hands behind your backs! And you,' I kicked Casanova's ass, 'wrap their hands with the belts, draw tight and buckle them. If you fake it, I'll shoot your left butt. Got it?'
Shit-scared he jumped right on it with trembling hands.
When it was done, I smiled.
'Well, guys, it's time to say goodbye to Bitch.'
Before the thugs could say anything I knocked them out with a butt-end of the gun, and both of them fell on the floor one after another.
Next, I cut down Casanova sending him on a long journey into the world of dreams. He rolled his eyes up and fell on the carpet. Without skipping a beat, I pulled a belt out of his jeans and wrapped his hands behind his back. After that I frisked him.
The asshole had even two cell phones. I raked them together with the thugs' cells, got out the SIM-cards, broke each of them into two, and crushed the phones to pieces.
Just in case I also checked the pockets of his friends, but I didn't find anything dangerous for me.
Should I take the guns? They could come in handy later. But on the other hand what if someone was shot with one of these guns? And if the cops stop me, I will fall into a trap.
I pointed at two thugs at the table not far from the bar counter who were keeping an eye on us.
Casanova ignored my question.
'Leave the bottle here.'
'Security measures?' I laughed. 'My Redd's VS your TT.'
Stop! How come I know that his gun is TT?
'Shut up! Let's go!'
Escorted by three strangers, I left the bar and directed towards the lift.
Fine! Now they will take all the cash, and what am I gonna do?
But how did they find me? I wasn't followed.
What if there is a microchip in me?!
That made me feel creepy.
No way! It's impossible! They could follow me from the apartment to the shopping mall. There they saw me taking a taxi, then tracked down the number of the car, and the driver threw me under the bus. That's it!
In the elevator cab, I turned to Casanova.
'Do you know my name?'
'Trying to intimidate us? It's not going to work! We don't care who your parents, brothers, boyfriends, or whoever you mean are. You took something that belongs to us. And we will take it back anyway.'
His teeth were shining so gloriously that I felt like busting in his jaw to watch a flight of his pearls.
What a jerk! He decided that I'm threatening, but all I need is to hear my name.
'I see. You don't know,' I chuckled, pretending I didn't care.
'We do. Your name is Bitch!' said one of the thugs with a short thick neck goffered with the rolls of fat in the back of his head.
At that moment the elevator cab stopped, and he pushed me out into the corridor.
'Hey, go easy!' I pushed him back. 'Hands off or you'll get problems.'
Casanova burst out laughing.
'Do you know who you are threatening? If Python just blows towards you, it will be enough to nail your balls to the wall.'
'Well, you know best. Sorry for your balls'.
The second thug roared with laughter.
'Shut up!' Casanova hissed at him angrily. 'Move on! I'm already sick of this place!'
I fished a key card from my pocket and went inside the first. The trio followed me. I passed into the room and plopped down on the sofa.
'Take whatever you want!'
'What do you mean?' Casanova frowned. He didn't get what was going on.
'Well, I take a lot of stuff that doesn't belong to me. I don't know what exactly you want.'
'Something from the apartment on Biryuzova street.'
'Aaah, I see! I hid it in the bathroom. I'll bring it. Wait here!'
I jumped up and headed towards the bathroom, but Casanova wasn't going to obey my order and followed me.
At the moment when he entered the bathroom after me, I suddenly stopped dead, and the guy almost bumped into me. Quick as thought, I did a U-turn, kneed him in the groin, and seizing the moment when Casanova doubled over in pain, drew his gun, released the safety catch, and pulled it on him. Taken by surprise, he scrunched his face, and all his charm melted away.
'Move your ass!' I pointed him to the door of the bathroom.
The thugs' mouths dropped open when they saw their boss at gunpoint. Both of them couldn't figure out what had happened as we left the room only a few moments ago. Their facial expression was so stupid that I couldn't help laughing.
'Put your guns down on the floor! Otherwise, your buddy will go to say hello to Fedya Tokarev. I mean to the afterlife.'
'Who is fucking Fedya?' Python asked me frowning.
'The guy who designed TT and died about fifty years ago. So put down the guns and cellphones if you don't want to see your friend shot.'
OMG! How come I know about this Tokarev?!
'Do what she says!' Casanova went into hysterics.
Through gritted teeth, the thugs put down their Glocks 17 and phones.
'Now take off your belts. Put your hands behind your backs! And you,' I kicked Casanova's ass, 'wrap their hands with the belts, draw tight and buckle them. If you fake it, I'll shoot your left butt. Got it?'
Shit-scared he jumped right on it with trembling hands.
When it was done, I smiled.
'Well, guys, it's time to say goodbye to Bitch.'
Before the thugs could say anything I knocked them out with a butt-end of the gun, and both of them fell on the floor one after another.
Next, I cut down Casanova sending him on a long journey into the world of dreams. He rolled his eyes up and fell on the carpet. Without skipping a beat, I pulled a belt out of his jeans and wrapped his hands behind his back. After that I frisked him.
The asshole had even two cell phones. I raked them together with the thugs' cells, got out the SIM-cards, broke each of them into two, and crushed the phones to pieces.
Just in case I also checked the pockets of his friends, but I didn't find anything dangerous for me.
Should I take the guns? They could come in handy later. But on the other hand what if someone was shot with one of these guns? And if the cops stop me, I will fall into a trap.
I wiped the fingerprints off the guns and with the help of the towel threw them out of the window.
I hoped Casanova and his buddies wouldn't come to their senses soon. Then they will need some time to get free. Without their phones, they wouldn't be able to call for backup. So I had at least twenty minutes.
I shoved my stuff into a travel bag and left the room.
On my way to the lift, I heard Suzanne Vega's voice in my head.
I hoped Casanova and his buddies wouldn't come to their senses soon. Then they will need some time to get free. Without their phones, they wouldn't be able to call for backup. So I had at least twenty minutes.
I shoved my stuff into a travel bag and left the room.
On my way to the lift, I heard Suzanne Vega's voice in my head.
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was...
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was...
In the elevator cab, it hit me that it was better to leave the hotel, not through a central entrance. What if Casanova's friends were waiting outside in the car and watching the doors?
In the lobby I walked up to one of the security guards, read his name on the badge, and said in a soft voice.
'Sergey, you can make a hundred bucks if you let me out through a staff entrance.'
He scratched his head and nodded.
'The tanning studio behind the Italian restaurant in two minutes.'
Leaving, I promised to Sergey to pay another $100 if he dug out a phone number of that bellboy who had brought Nikita's note to the reception.
A few moments later I was running across an employee parking towards the residential buildings.
This time I was pretty sure that there was no "tail" after me. But I was not going to take risks by hitchhiking on a busy avenue with lots of surveillance cameras that could help Casanova to track me down later. So the best option was not to stick out my neck and to lie low somewhere until the morning.
And what next? Now it's 3 a.m. Tomorrow I will still have nowhere to go. There's no sense to ask the taxi driver to help me with renting an apartment. If he threw me under the bus once, he'll do it again.
I decided to hide in a backyard of the high-rise flats, then to look online for a hostel, to call Uber, and to work out a strategy there, in a warmer and cozier place, not out in the cold. I hoped that because of the outflow of the guests in connections with COVID the hostel staff would be compliant.
Thinking about it I turned into a dark narrow alley and bumped into a weird couple.
In the lobby I walked up to one of the security guards, read his name on the badge, and said in a soft voice.
'Sergey, you can make a hundred bucks if you let me out through a staff entrance.'
He scratched his head and nodded.
'The tanning studio behind the Italian restaurant in two minutes.'
Leaving, I promised to Sergey to pay another $100 if he dug out a phone number of that bellboy who had brought Nikita's note to the reception.
A few moments later I was running across an employee parking towards the residential buildings.
This time I was pretty sure that there was no "tail" after me. But I was not going to take risks by hitchhiking on a busy avenue with lots of surveillance cameras that could help Casanova to track me down later. So the best option was not to stick out my neck and to lie low somewhere until the morning.
And what next? Now it's 3 a.m. Tomorrow I will still have nowhere to go. There's no sense to ask the taxi driver to help me with renting an apartment. If he threw me under the bus once, he'll do it again.
I decided to hide in a backyard of the high-rise flats, then to look online for a hostel, to call Uber, and to work out a strategy there, in a warmer and cozier place, not out in the cold. I hoped that because of the outflow of the guests in connections with COVID the hostel staff would be compliant.
Thinking about it I turned into a dark narrow alley and bumped into a weird couple.
'Wow! Another hot chick!'
The guy laughed and got a knife to my throat.
'Give me your bag! And don't even think of screaming or I'll kill you both!'
Crap! If there were a World Getting-into-Trouble Championship, I would get a gold medal. What I gonna do now?!
The guy laughed and got a knife to my throat.
'Give me your bag! And don't even think of screaming or I'll kill you both!'
Crap! If there were a World Getting-into-Trouble Championship, I would get a gold medal. What I gonna do now?!
7.
I froze on the spot. Only now I noticed that the girl I took for a robber's girlfriend was cowering in feat. I was surprised to recognize in her that blogger from the café "Le Petit Prince" with the same mask à la Breakfast at Tiffany's and the same almond eyes. Belka or something like that. What was she doing here at 3 a.m.?!
If only I could turn back time and keep Glock! If this jerk brandishes a knife, I'll have to give him all my money!
No way! I am not giving up that easy!
'I said give me your bag! Move on!'
He pressed harder the tip of the knife against my neck, and that burning cold touch made me breathless.
'Ok, ok. I don't need problems.'
I turned my bag over to him.
The guy grabbed the bag handles and pulled it over harshly. He was all nerves; he was freaking out. Maybe it was his first robbery, or perhaps he was a stoner. Or all of the above.
The robber stepped aside. He was still threatening with the knife at his arm's length when he threw down my bag on the ground and opened it. He was dying to see a fresh catch.
At the moment when the guy leaned forward and looked into my bag, I knocked the knife out from his hand with a lightning stroke of my leg, grabbed his head, and kneed him in the face. I did it several times until the robber passed out. Instead of the "kill shot" I hit him in the stomach, picked up my bag from the ground, and turned to the blogger who was watching us with horror.
'Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty! Run!''
After my words, Belka got back to reality.
'There! To the right at the end of the building!' She showed me the way.
We left the scene of the failed robbery in a hurry. I hoped that Casanova and his friends hadn't recovered consciousness yet and they were not following in my footsteps. I needed to hide inside the all-night drugstore and to call Uber.
'Thank you so much! You saved my life! I thought I'm done,' said the girl.
'No problem!'
'No problem?! You're a godsend. I was standing there and praying for a miracle. And then you showed up. You fight like Bruce Lee!'
'And you, what were you doing there all alone at 3 a.m.?'
Instead of answering Belka turned to an entrance hall of the building and punched in a code.
'Here we are!' She invited me to enter.
I didn't foresee that turn of events. The voice of the staff member of the café brought to my mind her words that Belka lived next door and used to coming to "Le Petit Prince" every day.
'I had a business meeting until 2 a.m.,' she explained while we were going up in an elevator to the highest floor. 'And then not far from here I decided to take a walk and let the driver go. But when I turned into the arch, that asshole with a knife jumped out from nowhere. You know what happened next. And what about you?'
'It's a long story!'
'Well, thanks to you now I have plenty of time.'
I realized that to get rid of her curiosity was not an option.
'After a fight with my boyfriend I was going to stay at the hotel not far from here but I forgot my ID in his place, and without it, I couldn't book a room.'
'So you have nowhere to go? Stay here!' Belka was glad to get an opportunity to thank a person who saved her life.
The elevator cab stopped, and we stepped into a large duplex loft. I was surprised but I had no time to look around because I noticed a huge German shepherd running like crazy to meet us. I could've sworn that the dog was heading towards me and started looking for a shelter but lucky for me, Belka stepped forward and grabbed him in her arms.
'You missed me, babe? Listen to me! This is my guest,' the blogger pointed at me, 'she's good. She saved my life tonight.'
The German shepherd got out of her hugs and ran up to me wagging his tail. Usually, dogs start sniffing the strangers warily but that one was surprisingly hospitable. He had expressive, intelligent eyes, and it seemed that he could understand everything. It was weird but near that dog, I felt safe.
'Well, hi, babe!' I laughed and gave a pat on his back.
In reply, the dog jumped up and licked my face.
They say the dogs can read you like a book. If this German is glad to meet me, does it mean that I'm a good person? Maybe, after all, it was not me who killed that guy in the apartment?
'According to his passport, he's Konon fon Vetsel Bella Deutsche,' Belka explained to me. 'But I like to call him Babe or Gypsy. I think in his previous life Konon was a gypsy. Come on!'
She headed over to a spacious hall that turned smoothly into a dining room and a sweet cozy kitchen. The apartment was luxurious, with a sweeping view of the night Moscow.
If only I could turn back time and keep Glock! If this jerk brandishes a knife, I'll have to give him all my money!
No way! I am not giving up that easy!
'I said give me your bag! Move on!'
He pressed harder the tip of the knife against my neck, and that burning cold touch made me breathless.
'Ok, ok. I don't need problems.'
I turned my bag over to him.
The guy grabbed the bag handles and pulled it over harshly. He was all nerves; he was freaking out. Maybe it was his first robbery, or perhaps he was a stoner. Or all of the above.
The robber stepped aside. He was still threatening with the knife at his arm's length when he threw down my bag on the ground and opened it. He was dying to see a fresh catch.
At the moment when the guy leaned forward and looked into my bag, I knocked the knife out from his hand with a lightning stroke of my leg, grabbed his head, and kneed him in the face. I did it several times until the robber passed out. Instead of the "kill shot" I hit him in the stomach, picked up my bag from the ground, and turned to the blogger who was watching us with horror.
'Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty! Run!''
After my words, Belka got back to reality.
'There! To the right at the end of the building!' She showed me the way.
We left the scene of the failed robbery in a hurry. I hoped that Casanova and his friends hadn't recovered consciousness yet and they were not following in my footsteps. I needed to hide inside the all-night drugstore and to call Uber.
'Thank you so much! You saved my life! I thought I'm done,' said the girl.
'No problem!'
'No problem?! You're a godsend. I was standing there and praying for a miracle. And then you showed up. You fight like Bruce Lee!'
'And you, what were you doing there all alone at 3 a.m.?'
Instead of answering Belka turned to an entrance hall of the building and punched in a code.
'Here we are!' She invited me to enter.
I didn't foresee that turn of events. The voice of the staff member of the café brought to my mind her words that Belka lived next door and used to coming to "Le Petit Prince" every day.
'I had a business meeting until 2 a.m.,' she explained while we were going up in an elevator to the highest floor. 'And then not far from here I decided to take a walk and let the driver go. But when I turned into the arch, that asshole with a knife jumped out from nowhere. You know what happened next. And what about you?'
'It's a long story!'
'Well, thanks to you now I have plenty of time.'
I realized that to get rid of her curiosity was not an option.
'After a fight with my boyfriend I was going to stay at the hotel not far from here but I forgot my ID in his place, and without it, I couldn't book a room.'
'So you have nowhere to go? Stay here!' Belka was glad to get an opportunity to thank a person who saved her life.
The elevator cab stopped, and we stepped into a large duplex loft. I was surprised but I had no time to look around because I noticed a huge German shepherd running like crazy to meet us. I could've sworn that the dog was heading towards me and started looking for a shelter but lucky for me, Belka stepped forward and grabbed him in her arms.
'You missed me, babe? Listen to me! This is my guest,' the blogger pointed at me, 'she's good. She saved my life tonight.'
The German shepherd got out of her hugs and ran up to me wagging his tail. Usually, dogs start sniffing the strangers warily but that one was surprisingly hospitable. He had expressive, intelligent eyes, and it seemed that he could understand everything. It was weird but near that dog, I felt safe.
'Well, hi, babe!' I laughed and gave a pat on his back.
In reply, the dog jumped up and licked my face.
They say the dogs can read you like a book. If this German is glad to meet me, does it mean that I'm a good person? Maybe, after all, it was not me who killed that guy in the apartment?
'According to his passport, he's Konon fon Vetsel Bella Deutsche,' Belka explained to me. 'But I like to call him Babe or Gypsy. I think in his previous life Konon was a gypsy. Come on!'
She headed over to a spacious hall that turned smoothly into a dining room and a sweet cozy kitchen. The apartment was luxurious, with a sweeping view of the night Moscow.
And what about me? In which place do I live?
'I couldn't imagine that you live in a royal palace,' I smiled. 'You can host the cycle racing in your hall. Do the bloggers earn so much money? Sorry, it's not my business.'
'Do you know who I am?' Belka looked surprised. 'Actually, I'm not popular. I have only several thousand followers... Please don't say that my mom hired you to look after me.'
The girl frowned and took a hard look at me.
'At the "Le Petit Prince" they say that you are a blogger. I was there today and saw you.'
'Wow! What a small world! So you know my name. I'm Belka. And you?'
'Luka,' I said the first name that popped into my head.
Luka? WTF Luka?!
It was all Suzanne Vega's fault!
'Luka?!' My new friend was amazed.
In the light of the lamps dangling randomly from the ceiling, she looked like a Japanese doll – fragile, with porcelain pretty face surrounded by her black silky hair and with her big green eyes that were looking at me in surprise out of her bangs.
'I couldn't imagine that you live in a royal palace,' I smiled. 'You can host the cycle racing in your hall. Do the bloggers earn so much money? Sorry, it's not my business.'
'Do you know who I am?' Belka looked surprised. 'Actually, I'm not popular. I have only several thousand followers... Please don't say that my mom hired you to look after me.'
The girl frowned and took a hard look at me.
'At the "Le Petit Prince" they say that you are a blogger. I was there today and saw you.'
'Wow! What a small world! So you know my name. I'm Belka. And you?'
'Luka,' I said the first name that popped into my head.
Luka? WTF Luka?!
It was all Suzanne Vega's fault!
'Luka?!' My new friend was amazed.
In the light of the lamps dangling randomly from the ceiling, she looked like a Japanese doll – fragile, with porcelain pretty face surrounded by her black silky hair and with her big green eyes that were looking at me in surprise out of her bangs.
'Luka? Does it mean Lukeria? If I remember rightly, this name is of Greek origin and means "sweet." Cool! I've never met Lukeria before!'
'Oh, no! I'm not Lukeria, just Lukianova,' I continued making up. 'But everybody calls me Luka by my last name.'
'It suits you. So, Luka, let's go to the kitchen! Do you want tea or wine or anything else? Or maybe you're hungry?'
Suddenly I felt like a warm wave of peace suddenly covered me, enveloped me, lulled me, and I got sleepy. And only at that moment, I realized how tired and exhausted I was.
'No, thank you! To be honest, I'm ready to drop. And you? It's already almost half-past 3:00.'
'I got a few things to do, and then I need to take Konon for a walk at least for five minutes. Plus I conduct an experiment – I'm following Pirahã's example.'
When the dog heard his name, he started wagging his tail happily in expectation of the upcoming walk.
'Pirahã's?'
I had no idea what it was.
'Pirahã are an indigenous people of the Amazon Rainforest in Brazil. They think that while sleeping, you die and wake up as a different person. That's why they sleep only 20-30 minutes a day.'
'Well, I'm out,' I laughed in reply. 'A few hours of sleep would do me good.'
'Then let's go upstairs. To the right, there are my bedroom and my office. To the left, there is a guest room. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor.'
'Thank you, Belka! Not everybody would've sheltered a stranger.'
'First of all, not everybody saves my life, and, secondly, when I invited you, I meant not only this night. You can stay here as long as you need it. As you see, there is plenty of room here, and I would be glad to help my lifesaver at least with a roof over your head.'
'Definitely, a godsend is you,' I smiled in reply.
I got lucky. The problem with the lodging was solved at least for a few days, and I could keep my investigation in a calm atmosphere.
The next morning I woke up from a rustling at the door.
'Oh, no! I'm not Lukeria, just Lukianova,' I continued making up. 'But everybody calls me Luka by my last name.'
'It suits you. So, Luka, let's go to the kitchen! Do you want tea or wine or anything else? Or maybe you're hungry?'
Suddenly I felt like a warm wave of peace suddenly covered me, enveloped me, lulled me, and I got sleepy. And only at that moment, I realized how tired and exhausted I was.
'No, thank you! To be honest, I'm ready to drop. And you? It's already almost half-past 3:00.'
'I got a few things to do, and then I need to take Konon for a walk at least for five minutes. Plus I conduct an experiment – I'm following Pirahã's example.'
When the dog heard his name, he started wagging his tail happily in expectation of the upcoming walk.
'Pirahã's?'
I had no idea what it was.
'Pirahã are an indigenous people of the Amazon Rainforest in Brazil. They think that while sleeping, you die and wake up as a different person. That's why they sleep only 20-30 minutes a day.'
'Well, I'm out,' I laughed in reply. 'A few hours of sleep would do me good.'
'Then let's go upstairs. To the right, there are my bedroom and my office. To the left, there is a guest room. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor.'
'Thank you, Belka! Not everybody would've sheltered a stranger.'
'First of all, not everybody saves my life, and, secondly, when I invited you, I meant not only this night. You can stay here as long as you need it. As you see, there is plenty of room here, and I would be glad to help my lifesaver at least with a roof over your head.'
'Definitely, a godsend is you,' I smiled in reply.
I got lucky. The problem with the lodging was solved at least for a few days, and I could keep my investigation in a calm atmosphere.
The next morning I woke up from a rustling at the door.
8.
I woke up from a rustling at the door. It took me a few moments to get it together when I looked around. A cozy spacious room with a stylish full-length black and white picture of John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson from the "Pulp Fiction" pointing their pistols reminded me of the events of last night. I ran away from the hotel, rescued the blogger Belka during the robbery, and she invited me to her luxurious loft.
The gentle scratching on the hardwood got me thinking that the German shepherd Konon was walking lazily along the corridor. I heard him plop down with a deep sigh near the stairs where he had a full view over the first floor of the apartment, and I realized that the dog was sick at heart. It seemed that the restless, adventurous Belka had already left the flat.
I checked my cell. 12.10.
How long I've been sleeping!
Finally, I could catch up on sleep in silence and peace. In that place, I felt safe.
I left the room. Konon jumped up with joy and smiled at me wagging his tail. After patting him, I went downstairs in the company of my new four-footed bodyguard and headed to the kitchen.
I was right – Belka had already gone. I saw the keys on the table and a note with her phone number
"If you get hungry, don't be shy to order a delivery from the "Le Petit Prince". Tell them to put it on my tab. If you need anything, just call me."
I put a kettle on and scrolled the news feed with flashy headlines all about the virus.
Not a single mention of murder on Biryuzova street! Is it possible that the body is still not discovered?
The kettle boiled with whistling at the same time as my cell began ringing. It made me jump.
«Xiaomi» was trembling on the table, trying desperately to get my attention because I rooted to the ground.
Who can call me? The bellboy? Really?!
'Hello!' I took the kettle off the stove to make it stop whistling.
'Hi! I got a message to call you. About the envelope. I took it and brought it to the reception.'
'Oh, hi!' I plopped down on the chair with relief. 'Could you please describe the person who gave it to you? How did it happen?'
'I carried out a guest's suitcase to the taxi and was going to return inside when a young man came up to me, gave me 500 rubles and asked me to give an envelope to the reception. It had your room number.'
'How did he look like? Does he have any distinguishing marks? I mean a mole on his face or a scar or something?'
'No, just a regular guy, about 25 to 30 years, six feet tall. He was in the dark puffy jacket, the jeans, and the sneakers. Half Moscow dresses like that. He had a ball cap, a hood over it, and a mask on his face so I couldn't get a good look at him.'
'I see. Was it on the parking? Did you see his car?'
'Even if he took a car, he left it outside the hotel territory.'
Disappointed I frowned and bit my lip.
Who is this untraceable Nikita?
'Listen, can you get a video of this guy?'
'Are you kidding? How? I have no access to the CCTV tapes!' laughed the bellboy.
'But you may know someone from the security service. It's not a big deal to copy a 1-minute video to a flash drive. If you get it, I'll pay a hundred bucks.'
'I'll try.' Greed for gain made him stop laughing.
After that conversation, I took a chocolate muffin out of the fridge, poured the tea into the mug, and scrolled the news feed again, with still no result. It seemed that the news websites hadn't found the murder on Biryuzova street interesting enough to write about it.
Suddenly a crazy idea came into my mind. I jumped up from the chair and ran to my room.
They say that criminals often return to the scene of the crime. I hoped I was not a killer, but definitely, that apartment was attracting me like a magnet...
I checked my cell. 12.10.
How long I've been sleeping!
Finally, I could catch up on sleep in silence and peace. In that place, I felt safe.
I left the room. Konon jumped up with joy and smiled at me wagging his tail. After patting him, I went downstairs in the company of my new four-footed bodyguard and headed to the kitchen.
I was right – Belka had already gone. I saw the keys on the table and a note with her phone number
"If you get hungry, don't be shy to order a delivery from the "Le Petit Prince". Tell them to put it on my tab. If you need anything, just call me."
I put a kettle on and scrolled the news feed with flashy headlines all about the virus.
Not a single mention of murder on Biryuzova street! Is it possible that the body is still not discovered?
The kettle boiled with whistling at the same time as my cell began ringing. It made me jump.
«Xiaomi» was trembling on the table, trying desperately to get my attention because I rooted to the ground.
Who can call me? The bellboy? Really?!
'Hello!' I took the kettle off the stove to make it stop whistling.
'Hi! I got a message to call you. About the envelope. I took it and brought it to the reception.'
'Oh, hi!' I plopped down on the chair with relief. 'Could you please describe the person who gave it to you? How did it happen?'
'I carried out a guest's suitcase to the taxi and was going to return inside when a young man came up to me, gave me 500 rubles and asked me to give an envelope to the reception. It had your room number.'
'How did he look like? Does he have any distinguishing marks? I mean a mole on his face or a scar or something?'
'No, just a regular guy, about 25 to 30 years, six feet tall. He was in the dark puffy jacket, the jeans, and the sneakers. Half Moscow dresses like that. He had a ball cap, a hood over it, and a mask on his face so I couldn't get a good look at him.'
'I see. Was it on the parking? Did you see his car?'
'Even if he took a car, he left it outside the hotel territory.'
Disappointed I frowned and bit my lip.
Who is this untraceable Nikita?
'Listen, can you get a video of this guy?'
'Are you kidding? How? I have no access to the CCTV tapes!' laughed the bellboy.
'But you may know someone from the security service. It's not a big deal to copy a 1-minute video to a flash drive. If you get it, I'll pay a hundred bucks.'
'I'll try.' Greed for gain made him stop laughing.
After that conversation, I took a chocolate muffin out of the fridge, poured the tea into the mug, and scrolled the news feed again, with still no result. It seemed that the news websites hadn't found the murder on Biryuzova street interesting enough to write about it.
Suddenly a crazy idea came into my mind. I jumped up from the chair and ran to my room.
They say that criminals often return to the scene of the crime. I hoped I was not a killer, but definitely, that apartment was attracting me like a magnet...
9.
I paid off a pizza delivery guy and picked up a cherished box. We were standing near the metro station "Oktyabrskoe pole" ("October Field"). The order blank attached to the box had an address I needed – the next apartment to that one where I found myself a couple of days ago.
I made it up for cover. I placed an order, then called the pizza guy and asked him to meet me near the metro station. Of course, he was glad to save time but it didn't stop him from being late for ten minutes.
Pizza was my entry ticket.
I pretended to be a pizza delivery staff. Belka allowed me to use in her flat everything I needed. Following the example of mysterious Nikita, I choose the jeans with a dark puffy jacket and then pulled a black ball cap right to my eyes. With a backpack, I looked like a student daylighting as a courier and blended into the crowd.
The closer I was coming to the building, the faster my heart was pounding. It was beating so hard that I began thinking that instead of it, I had a crazy frog that was aiming to jump out of my chest.
What if somebody's waiting for me there?
But a reasonable person would never go back to that apartment. I took the money they need. What else can I take there? No way they count on my return.
I even didn't have to ring the buzzer – at the moment when I came to the door, a young woman with a stroller was coming out into the street. She decided to ignore a new rule "Stay at home". I held a door for them and penetrated an entrance hall.
And suddenly it hit me.
Someone might recognize me! If I lived here, somebody can stop me and say kind of 'Oh, Masha, are you a pizza delivery girl now?'
Before I could think about it, a dreadful loud voice arose from a concierge window.
'Where are you off to?!'
The tough woman in the glasses as a dog on a chain was straining at the leash at the sight of a stranger inside the building.
That's why I invented the masquerade with pizza. I pushed an order blank under her nose and held my breath waiting for my exposure.
But after reading the address the concierge lost interest in me. There is such a category of people that you may call the invisible. For example, the cleaners. Always silent, wearing the same familiar uniform that becomes tedious, they move quietly without making a sound, and soon they turn into "the invisible" to the people around who just stop noticing them. And it looked like that for that concierge the pizza delivery guys also belonged to the "invisible" category.
As the concierge hadn't recognized me, I became braver.
'It was your block on TV, wasn't it?'
'When? What happened?' The old lady was dying of curiosity.
'Yesterday. Police found a body in one of these apartments.' I said it as indifferently as possible while waiting for an elevator cab. 'A guy was stabbed.'
'No, there was no murder in our block.' I sensed a tone of regret in her voice. The concierge sighed.
It seemed to me, she was even envious that the murder had been committed at another place next to hers and some other concierge got in the thick of things. She looked upset because she had no chance to have some fun watching the police and TV crews around.
I entered an elevator cab.
So, the body wasn't discovered yet. I need to talk to the neighbors. Maybe I'll be lucky to get any information about the residents of this weird apartment. Of course, in case if they don't recognize in me a girl who lived there, because the fact that the concierge doesn't know me doesn't mean that I didn't live there. Maybe she's just new. Or she didn't recognize me in a mask.
A sleepy teenager in the hoodie with the bloody Tokyo Ghoul opened the door of the next apartment to that one where I had waked up two days ago. He looked upset. Maybe he had a lot of homework, after online lessons he had been taking a nap, but a courier (I meant me) had bothered him.
I made it up for cover. I placed an order, then called the pizza guy and asked him to meet me near the metro station. Of course, he was glad to save time but it didn't stop him from being late for ten minutes.
Pizza was my entry ticket.
I pretended to be a pizza delivery staff. Belka allowed me to use in her flat everything I needed. Following the example of mysterious Nikita, I choose the jeans with a dark puffy jacket and then pulled a black ball cap right to my eyes. With a backpack, I looked like a student daylighting as a courier and blended into the crowd.
The closer I was coming to the building, the faster my heart was pounding. It was beating so hard that I began thinking that instead of it, I had a crazy frog that was aiming to jump out of my chest.
What if somebody's waiting for me there?
But a reasonable person would never go back to that apartment. I took the money they need. What else can I take there? No way they count on my return.
I even didn't have to ring the buzzer – at the moment when I came to the door, a young woman with a stroller was coming out into the street. She decided to ignore a new rule "Stay at home". I held a door for them and penetrated an entrance hall.
And suddenly it hit me.
Someone might recognize me! If I lived here, somebody can stop me and say kind of 'Oh, Masha, are you a pizza delivery girl now?'
Before I could think about it, a dreadful loud voice arose from a concierge window.
'Where are you off to?!'
The tough woman in the glasses as a dog on a chain was straining at the leash at the sight of a stranger inside the building.
That's why I invented the masquerade with pizza. I pushed an order blank under her nose and held my breath waiting for my exposure.
But after reading the address the concierge lost interest in me. There is such a category of people that you may call the invisible. For example, the cleaners. Always silent, wearing the same familiar uniform that becomes tedious, they move quietly without making a sound, and soon they turn into "the invisible" to the people around who just stop noticing them. And it looked like that for that concierge the pizza delivery guys also belonged to the "invisible" category.
As the concierge hadn't recognized me, I became braver.
'It was your block on TV, wasn't it?'
'When? What happened?' The old lady was dying of curiosity.
'Yesterday. Police found a body in one of these apartments.' I said it as indifferently as possible while waiting for an elevator cab. 'A guy was stabbed.'
'No, there was no murder in our block.' I sensed a tone of regret in her voice. The concierge sighed.
It seemed to me, she was even envious that the murder had been committed at another place next to hers and some other concierge got in the thick of things. She looked upset because she had no chance to have some fun watching the police and TV crews around.
I entered an elevator cab.
So, the body wasn't discovered yet. I need to talk to the neighbors. Maybe I'll be lucky to get any information about the residents of this weird apartment. Of course, in case if they don't recognize in me a girl who lived there, because the fact that the concierge doesn't know me doesn't mean that I didn't live there. Maybe she's just new. Or she didn't recognize me in a mask.
A sleepy teenager in the hoodie with the bloody Tokyo Ghoul opened the door of the next apartment to that one where I had waked up two days ago. He looked upset. Maybe he had a lot of homework, after online lessons he had been taking a nap, but a courier (I meant me) had bothered him.
'Hi!' I smiled at him and handed him a pizza.
'We didn't make an order,' said the guy, but he wasn't in a hurry to close the door. In a matter of seconds the magic of the aromatic pizza enveloped him, and zombielike, he was looking at the box with hungry eyes.
I found it as a good omen, as well as the fact that the boy didn't recognize me as his neighbor.
'Weird. It's your apartment in an order blank. It might be a mistake. I'll check it.'
I pretended to call the office.
'I'll buy this pizza!' exclaimed the teenager. 'How much?'
But I was simulating a conversation with my "colleague" and only after that, I looked at a hungry boy.
'Yep, it's a mistake. The pizza was ordered to apartment 27.'
'No way! Nobody lives there.'
WTF? How come nobody lives there?! Then whose staff was all over the apartment? Or is the boy stringing me along to make me sell the pizza?
I got annoyed.
Now I will not get the truth from him. Maybe that night the boy saw the police carrying away the body and now because of this stupid pizza he won't tell me anything about it.
Before his eyes, I headed to apartment 27, rang the bell, and stood still waiting.
What if Casanova and his gang are there? It would be very "funny"...
Thank God nobody opened me a door. The teenager looked at me triumphantly and smiled.
'I told you nobody lives there. How much?'
I sold the pizza to get rid of the boy. I already got a new plan. As fast as the Tokyo Ghoul fan slammed the door, I fished out the keys from the pocket.
Right now, I'll find out if the body is discovered or still not.
I wished good luck and opened the door of the mysterious apartment.
'We didn't make an order,' said the guy, but he wasn't in a hurry to close the door. In a matter of seconds the magic of the aromatic pizza enveloped him, and zombielike, he was looking at the box with hungry eyes.
I found it as a good omen, as well as the fact that the boy didn't recognize me as his neighbor.
'Weird. It's your apartment in an order blank. It might be a mistake. I'll check it.'
I pretended to call the office.
'I'll buy this pizza!' exclaimed the teenager. 'How much?'
But I was simulating a conversation with my "colleague" and only after that, I looked at a hungry boy.
'Yep, it's a mistake. The pizza was ordered to apartment 27.'
'No way! Nobody lives there.'
WTF? How come nobody lives there?! Then whose staff was all over the apartment? Or is the boy stringing me along to make me sell the pizza?
I got annoyed.
Now I will not get the truth from him. Maybe that night the boy saw the police carrying away the body and now because of this stupid pizza he won't tell me anything about it.
Before his eyes, I headed to apartment 27, rang the bell, and stood still waiting.
What if Casanova and his gang are there? It would be very "funny"...
Thank God nobody opened me a door. The teenager looked at me triumphantly and smiled.
'I told you nobody lives there. How much?'
I sold the pizza to get rid of the boy. I already got a new plan. As fast as the Tokyo Ghoul fan slammed the door, I fished out the keys from the pocket.
Right now, I'll find out if the body is discovered or still not.
I wished good luck and opened the door of the mysterious apartment.
10.
I opened the door and came in with caution as I had left open the possibility that someone could be hiding behind the door and was going to hit me just like I had done it last time.
But nobody was waiting for me there.
I'm safe, for now.
Right off the bat, my eyes caught the lack of fragments of a vase. I broke it over the head of that man who had burst into the flat.
Is it possible that after coming to his senses he decided to use a broom with a shovel?
The cleanness in the hallway was taken as a bad sign, and I rushed to the living room.
There was nobody! No dead guy in the armchair!
Does it mean that the body was found? Then the door must have been sealed. And the concierge should have been aware of the situation with murder. Such rumors fly quickly.
I noticed that a bottle "Moët&Chandon" with the flutes had escaped too. Completely mystified, I opened the closet.
It was empty. The same thing happened with the bedroom and the bathroom. No clothes, no footwear, no knickknacks, no shampoo, no bath bombs, and toothbrushes. As if nobody had lived there indeed.
So the boy didn't lie?
Or maybe that evening was just a figment of my imagination? In particular the body. What if the dead guy didn't exist at all?
After my memory loss when I couldn't recall even my name, I wouldn't be surprised.
Maybe I'm just going nuts, and I had hallucinations? Including this weird story with a virus and a self-isolation at home? It has never happened in the world that the entire planet stays at home and the paramedics come almost in the astronaut costumes as in the fiction movies about viruses.
Stop! But I have the keys. So I was here indeed!
I decided to leave the apartment. The surveillance cameras could be there all around, and Casanova had an opportunity to see that I was there.
Perhaps he is already on his way.
But still, seized with an irresistible impulse, I went back into the room. I wanted to check the place under the armchair where the last time I had found a cell phone. Maybe there was still something else.
I didn't count on it much, that's why I stared in surprise at the photo that I'd pulled out from under the armchair. It was a printed photo from the Instagram booth that was plenty in the shopping malls – a selfie of three guys at the fitness club.
On the far left, leaning elbow on the elliptical machine was the very same poor dead fellow.
I saw a date under the picture. It was posted on Instagram on Saturday. But unfortunately, it had no name.
I took a photo and left the apartment. Just in case to be sure that there was no 'tail' after me, I traveled by metro for an hour changing trains, then at the Krasnopresnenskaya station, I took Uber and went home.
But nobody was waiting for me there.
I'm safe, for now.
Right off the bat, my eyes caught the lack of fragments of a vase. I broke it over the head of that man who had burst into the flat.
Is it possible that after coming to his senses he decided to use a broom with a shovel?
The cleanness in the hallway was taken as a bad sign, and I rushed to the living room.
There was nobody! No dead guy in the armchair!
Does it mean that the body was found? Then the door must have been sealed. And the concierge should have been aware of the situation with murder. Such rumors fly quickly.
I noticed that a bottle "Moët&Chandon" with the flutes had escaped too. Completely mystified, I opened the closet.
It was empty. The same thing happened with the bedroom and the bathroom. No clothes, no footwear, no knickknacks, no shampoo, no bath bombs, and toothbrushes. As if nobody had lived there indeed.
So the boy didn't lie?
Or maybe that evening was just a figment of my imagination? In particular the body. What if the dead guy didn't exist at all?
After my memory loss when I couldn't recall even my name, I wouldn't be surprised.
Maybe I'm just going nuts, and I had hallucinations? Including this weird story with a virus and a self-isolation at home? It has never happened in the world that the entire planet stays at home and the paramedics come almost in the astronaut costumes as in the fiction movies about viruses.
Stop! But I have the keys. So I was here indeed!
I decided to leave the apartment. The surveillance cameras could be there all around, and Casanova had an opportunity to see that I was there.
Perhaps he is already on his way.
But still, seized with an irresistible impulse, I went back into the room. I wanted to check the place under the armchair where the last time I had found a cell phone. Maybe there was still something else.
I didn't count on it much, that's why I stared in surprise at the photo that I'd pulled out from under the armchair. It was a printed photo from the Instagram booth that was plenty in the shopping malls – a selfie of three guys at the fitness club.
On the far left, leaning elbow on the elliptical machine was the very same poor dead fellow.
I saw a date under the picture. It was posted on Instagram on Saturday. But unfortunately, it had no name.
I took a photo and left the apartment. Just in case to be sure that there was no 'tail' after me, I traveled by metro for an hour changing trains, then at the Krasnopresnenskaya station, I took Uber and went home.
Belka didn't come yet. I decided to take Konon for a walk. Thrilled, he couldn't believe his luck and poked gratefully his little ball in my hand. It was a hint for me to take his toy to the park.
After a walk, I came home and got a photo of the dead guy.
Who are you? Why did they hide your body?
Asking these questions, I drifted off.
When I woke up, I saw the shades of the evening outside the window.
My memory still wasn't giving me any clue about me and my name, but my stomach demanded food reminding me that I had not eaten all day.
I left my room, and in the dark corridor, I noticed a streak of light leaking out of Belka's office.
I stopped short thinking over to knock and to say hi or not to interrupt her creative process. While I was choosing what to do, the door opened, and Belka with Konon materialized in the corridor.
'Luka, any plans for tonight?' she asked me on the fly. 'I mean for now.'
'No plans. Why?'
Lost in my thoughts, I completely forgot that I was going to find food.
'Then can you go with me to Kitay-Gorod? Uber is already waiting.'
'Ok.'
I went downstairs following Belka. Droopy Konon trailed behind us. He realized that we were going to leave him alone.
'Your driver has a day off?'
'My mom hired him to spy on my every move. That's why I prefer to go without him. To be honest, I need your company.'
'Ok. But first promise me that then we will go somewhere to grab some food.'
'Deal! I know a nice place around.'
In Uber Belka took her tablet out of her bag and dived into it intently scrolling one Web-page after another. She was deep in her thoughts and forgot that I had no idea about where we were going and why. So I asked it.
Belka turned to me her calm imperturbable face.
'We are going to investigate the disappearance of a schoolgirl.'
After a walk, I came home and got a photo of the dead guy.
Who are you? Why did they hide your body?
Asking these questions, I drifted off.
When I woke up, I saw the shades of the evening outside the window.
My memory still wasn't giving me any clue about me and my name, but my stomach demanded food reminding me that I had not eaten all day.
I left my room, and in the dark corridor, I noticed a streak of light leaking out of Belka's office.
I stopped short thinking over to knock and to say hi or not to interrupt her creative process. While I was choosing what to do, the door opened, and Belka with Konon materialized in the corridor.
'Luka, any plans for tonight?' she asked me on the fly. 'I mean for now.'
'No plans. Why?'
Lost in my thoughts, I completely forgot that I was going to find food.
'Then can you go with me to Kitay-Gorod? Uber is already waiting.'
'Ok.'
I went downstairs following Belka. Droopy Konon trailed behind us. He realized that we were going to leave him alone.
'Your driver has a day off?'
'My mom hired him to spy on my every move. That's why I prefer to go without him. To be honest, I need your company.'
'Ok. But first promise me that then we will go somewhere to grab some food.'
'Deal! I know a nice place around.'
In Uber Belka took her tablet out of her bag and dived into it intently scrolling one Web-page after another. She was deep in her thoughts and forgot that I had no idea about where we were going and why. So I asked it.
Belka turned to me her calm imperturbable face.
'We are going to investigate the disappearance of a schoolgirl.'
11.
While the taxi was crossing the central streets of Moscow sinking in the twilight of the rainy evening, I was overthinking Belka's answer.
WTF? What disappearance we are going to investigate?!
'Isn't it police business?' I asked.
Belka turned to me again and said as if it was a common practice 'Police didn't take it seriously, and I was asked to help.'
I lost sight of what was going on, and it reflected in my wide-open eyes.
'She is the niece of my friend. He asked to help,' explained Belka. 'He says that police officers think it's just a teenager's thing, and she will show up soon.'
'How long she's been missing? And how come it happened during the self-isolation?'
'I guess I should start at the beginning. Her name is Liza Voronkova, 16 years old. Yesterday evening while her parents were getting groceries she ran away to her friend Katya and didn't come home. Katya says to Liza's parents that she doesn't know where she could have gone. According to her words, they ordered sushi, watched two episodes of a dorama, and then Liza went home.'
'But your gut tells you that she's leaving things out?'
'Yep. Judging by their stories on Instagram, Liza and Katya really watched dorama eating sushi. It was her last activity on social media. After that, she went offline. Now I want to check her last location that I found. We're almost there.'
The taxi stopped near an old forsaken mansion with the boarded-up windows. At the light of the headlamps, the dirty yellow dilapidated house with a tumbledown molding and horrible graffiti on the walls of the first floor looked gloomy and creepy. It hardly seemed credible that the very heart of Moscow still had such buildings almost within walking distance from Red Square.
WTF? What disappearance we are going to investigate?!
'Isn't it police business?' I asked.
Belka turned to me again and said as if it was a common practice 'Police didn't take it seriously, and I was asked to help.'
I lost sight of what was going on, and it reflected in my wide-open eyes.
'She is the niece of my friend. He asked to help,' explained Belka. 'He says that police officers think it's just a teenager's thing, and she will show up soon.'
'How long she's been missing? And how come it happened during the self-isolation?'
'I guess I should start at the beginning. Her name is Liza Voronkova, 16 years old. Yesterday evening while her parents were getting groceries she ran away to her friend Katya and didn't come home. Katya says to Liza's parents that she doesn't know where she could have gone. According to her words, they ordered sushi, watched two episodes of a dorama, and then Liza went home.'
'But your gut tells you that she's leaving things out?'
'Yep. Judging by their stories on Instagram, Liza and Katya really watched dorama eating sushi. It was her last activity on social media. After that, she went offline. Now I want to check her last location that I found. We're almost there.'
The taxi stopped near an old forsaken mansion with the boarded-up windows. At the light of the headlamps, the dirty yellow dilapidated house with a tumbledown molding and horrible graffiti on the walls of the first floor looked gloomy and creepy. It hardly seemed credible that the very heart of Moscow still had such buildings almost within walking distance from Red Square.
'How did you find out that it's Liza's last location?'
We already left the car and were examining with curiosity the "spook house".
'I hacked her phone. Before getting off at 10.18 p.m., her cell was active from this place.'
'You hacked her phone?! Wow! You are tough!'
The girl was full of surprises.
'No, it's you tough! You can fight like Bruce Lee! To be honest, I checked this building on Google Maps, and I was scared to go here alone in the late evening. That's why I asked you to come with me.'
'I see. Ok, Sherlock, let's go!' I laughed in reply. 'Tonight I'll be your Watson.'
Belka got out two hand lanterns from her backpack, gave me one of them, and we walked cautiously into a dark yard in search of an entrance to the house. Finally, we crushed through a hole in the wall covered with several pieces of plywood and got into a rather spacious messy room with the swearwords on all the walls. Before our eyes, the light of the lanterns made the rats zip around. A strong, musty smell hit us hard.
Belka wrinkled her nose.
'It stinks, even though the mask. Looks like hobos live here. I hope we'll not run into them.'
'Me too. I doubt the uninvited guests are welcome here. At what time Liza went home?' I asked, stepping over the empty bottles and the injectors scattered every here and there.
'After half-past nine. But the matter is that Liza didn't come to Katya. I checked her movements'.
'Wait! You told me that judging by Instagram they watched dorama eating sushi together.'
'They did but not at Katya's home. She spent about an hour and a half in Stalin skyscraper on the embankment and then came here. What the hell did she need in such a dump?'
We went around the first floor – the same dirty, full of garbage and filled with an unpleasant odor. Then we moved to the dilapidated stairs that led to the second floor. In the dark Belka didn't notice a cat and nearly stepped on it. The hysterical scream of the stray pet scared us half to death.
To be honest, I still didn't understand what we were doing there.
Does she think that we can find Liza in this awful place?
I hoped she was not there because only a dead girl could stay in that tenderloin since last evening.
But on the other hand, someone could hold her hostage.
The kidnappers could drug, gag, and lock her in the basement or in the attic from where we heard a clap of the pigeon wings.
On the second floor, it was much lighter – the windows were nailed up not so tightly, and the light of the streetlamps was leaking into the room through the splits between the panels. While Belka managed again to run into a cat, I spotted something on the floor under a window sill.
'Cell!' I heard the surprise in my voice.
My Sherlock ran up to the phone and picked it up from the floor. I flashed the light on the phone and saw a photo of the smiling dark-haired guy on its cover.
'It's Liza's! I saw it on her Instagram selfies. It's Lucifer from the tv-series...'
We already left the car and were examining with curiosity the "spook house".
'I hacked her phone. Before getting off at 10.18 p.m., her cell was active from this place.'
'You hacked her phone?! Wow! You are tough!'
The girl was full of surprises.
'No, it's you tough! You can fight like Bruce Lee! To be honest, I checked this building on Google Maps, and I was scared to go here alone in the late evening. That's why I asked you to come with me.'
'I see. Ok, Sherlock, let's go!' I laughed in reply. 'Tonight I'll be your Watson.'
Belka got out two hand lanterns from her backpack, gave me one of them, and we walked cautiously into a dark yard in search of an entrance to the house. Finally, we crushed through a hole in the wall covered with several pieces of plywood and got into a rather spacious messy room with the swearwords on all the walls. Before our eyes, the light of the lanterns made the rats zip around. A strong, musty smell hit us hard.
Belka wrinkled her nose.
'It stinks, even though the mask. Looks like hobos live here. I hope we'll not run into them.'
'Me too. I doubt the uninvited guests are welcome here. At what time Liza went home?' I asked, stepping over the empty bottles and the injectors scattered every here and there.
'After half-past nine. But the matter is that Liza didn't come to Katya. I checked her movements'.
'Wait! You told me that judging by Instagram they watched dorama eating sushi together.'
'They did but not at Katya's home. She spent about an hour and a half in Stalin skyscraper on the embankment and then came here. What the hell did she need in such a dump?'
We went around the first floor – the same dirty, full of garbage and filled with an unpleasant odor. Then we moved to the dilapidated stairs that led to the second floor. In the dark Belka didn't notice a cat and nearly stepped on it. The hysterical scream of the stray pet scared us half to death.
To be honest, I still didn't understand what we were doing there.
Does she think that we can find Liza in this awful place?
I hoped she was not there because only a dead girl could stay in that tenderloin since last evening.
But on the other hand, someone could hold her hostage.
The kidnappers could drug, gag, and lock her in the basement or in the attic from where we heard a clap of the pigeon wings.
On the second floor, it was much lighter – the windows were nailed up not so tightly, and the light of the streetlamps was leaking into the room through the splits between the panels. While Belka managed again to run into a cat, I spotted something on the floor under a window sill.
'Cell!' I heard the surprise in my voice.
My Sherlock ran up to the phone and picked it up from the floor. I flashed the light on the phone and saw a photo of the smiling dark-haired guy on its cover.
'It's Liza's! I saw it on her Instagram selfies. It's Lucifer from the tv-series...'
'Maybe Liza wasn't here. What if somebody had stolen her phone, and it was the robber here, not her?' I suggested.
'It could have happened. There is a cafe not far from here. Let's order food and go home.'
Belka pulled a charger from her backpack and connected it to Liza's dead phone.
'I'm all for it! I'm starving! But as long as we're here, let's check an attic and a basement first. Just in case.'
Twenty minutes later, after failing to discover anything else in the spook house, we were waiting for our order in the empty café. Belka turned on Liza's phone, and it began beeping with a shower of messages.
'No doubt it's her cell! Here are the texts from her parents and Katya. They couldn't get through to her... And from some Dan. Oh! For the last 24 hours, he tried to get her twenty-three times.'
'Maybe he's her boyfriend?'
'Maybe. Although her parents are sure that Liza doesn't have a boyfriend.'
'We need to talk to Katya and ask her about Dan.'
'Moreover, Katya was in that weird house too! Look, yesterday at 10.23 p.m. she wrote to Liza in Viber "Why did you run? They were just joking'. And later at 10.26 another message "Lizka, come back! Dan was kidding". And later Dan himself sent her the texts with the apologies.'
'So, it means that they were all together in the spook house, then Liza got pissed off by something and ran away.'
Belka scrolled a contact list and tapped a call button.
'I'm dialing Katya's number.' She put her on speaker. 'Hi, Katya! I investigate Liza Voronkova's disappearance, and I have some questions for you.'
'... He... hello!' After a pause, we heard a scared voice. 'But I don't know anything! I've already told to Liza's parents. She went home at about 09.30 p.m. That's all.'
'It is bad to cheat, Katya! I have information that Liza didn't come to you and before her missing, you both visited an abandoned house on Kitay-Gorod. With Dan. What were you doing there?'
'How do you know that I was there?!' The girl got confused.
'Maybe we should call you and your parents to the police station and discuss how their daughter is obstructing the investigation?' Belka ignored her question.
Katya heaved a deep sigh.
'But I don't know where she is! I even don't get what the hell was that!'
'What do you mean?'
'Everything was fine. Dan and Kostik invited us to Dan to watch a movie. We've met them a couple of weeks ago, right before this stupid self-isolation. They are third-year students at Moscow State University.
'Dan lives in Stalin skyscraper?'
'Yes. We watched dorama, and then Dan said about a roof. He's kind of a roofer and wanted to show off. They suggested going upstairs to see the stunning views of Moscow. First, it was cool but then Liza went crazy. Literally.'
'What do you mean?'
'She began talking crap! Sort of that there was a man on the roof who was chasing her in her dreams. Like a ghost. But we were alone there! Liza got hysterical. She demanded on going downstairs.'
'She was high? What was it? Hallucination?'
'Oh, no! No way! Liza doesn't try even a cigarette and alcohol. I saw her so frightened like that for the first time, and by the way, we know each other since the first grade!'
'How did she explain it?'
'She didn't. We went downstairs. Kostik suggested walking around. Outside Liza calmed down. She apologized, said that she had just imagined things, and began flirting with Dan again as if nothing had happened. Then the guys wanted to smoke pot, and we went to that abandoned house.'
'What happened there?'
'Kostik said a bad joke, Dan burst into laughter, and Liza didn't like it. The guys suggested shooting funny videos during the next outing. Kostik joked that in case of refusal Dan would follow Liza in her dreams as a man from the roof. After that, she got pissed off and ran away.'
'Why didn't you stop her?'
'Well, I thought that like last time she would calm down outside and come back,' Katya confessed after pausing. 'I texted her; then I recalled that she had turned off her cell for avoiding her parents' calls. The guys finished smoking, we left the house, but she was gone. I tried to call her later, especially after a conversation with her parents. Then I decided to talk to Liza the next morning but she didn't show up online, even at the online lessons. I got scared that's why I didn't mention the guys and said that we had been hanging out at my apartment.'
'How did you come up with hanging out during the self-isolation?'
'We just wanted to see Dan and Kostik.'
'Police could stop you and fine you for a stay-home regime violation.'
'So what? We'd pay a fine of 1000 rubles. It's not a problem.'
'I see. Well, thanks for your cooperation! If you get news, call me back, please. Bye!'
Belka looked at me.
'What a crap! Do you believe in a man chasing Liza in her dreams? 'It looks like Liza got crazy if she thought she had seen a ghost on the roof.'
'I don't know whom she saw there, but it's a fact that something or someone scared her on the roof. We need to talk to Dan and hear his version of events.'
While Belka was trying to get through to Dan, I recalled a photo from the mysterious apartment where I had found a body. I got it out of my pocket and showed it to my friend.
'Do you happen to know what fitness club it is?'
Belka laughed in reply.
'No, fitness and I are incompatible!' She took a picture of the photo on her cell. 'I will try to find it out at home... Why Dan isn't answering?'
'Call him on Liza's phone. Maybe he doesn't accept calls from the unfamiliar numbers.'
We'd been trying to call Dan all evening, but we couldn't reach him. Even on our way home in Uber Belka was dialing his number but without result. Inhaling the flavor of warm meals in my hands, I was looking at the twinkling neon lights of the streets outside the car window and thinking my own thoughts. Maybe somewhere in the world, someone was also trying to find me...
The end of the sample.
'It could have happened. There is a cafe not far from here. Let's order food and go home.'
Belka pulled a charger from her backpack and connected it to Liza's dead phone.
'I'm all for it! I'm starving! But as long as we're here, let's check an attic and a basement first. Just in case.'
Twenty minutes later, after failing to discover anything else in the spook house, we were waiting for our order in the empty café. Belka turned on Liza's phone, and it began beeping with a shower of messages.
'No doubt it's her cell! Here are the texts from her parents and Katya. They couldn't get through to her... And from some Dan. Oh! For the last 24 hours, he tried to get her twenty-three times.'
'Maybe he's her boyfriend?'
'Maybe. Although her parents are sure that Liza doesn't have a boyfriend.'
'We need to talk to Katya and ask her about Dan.'
'Moreover, Katya was in that weird house too! Look, yesterday at 10.23 p.m. she wrote to Liza in Viber "Why did you run? They were just joking'. And later at 10.26 another message "Lizka, come back! Dan was kidding". And later Dan himself sent her the texts with the apologies.'
'So, it means that they were all together in the spook house, then Liza got pissed off by something and ran away.'
Belka scrolled a contact list and tapped a call button.
'I'm dialing Katya's number.' She put her on speaker. 'Hi, Katya! I investigate Liza Voronkova's disappearance, and I have some questions for you.'
'... He... hello!' After a pause, we heard a scared voice. 'But I don't know anything! I've already told to Liza's parents. She went home at about 09.30 p.m. That's all.'
'It is bad to cheat, Katya! I have information that Liza didn't come to you and before her missing, you both visited an abandoned house on Kitay-Gorod. With Dan. What were you doing there?'
'How do you know that I was there?!' The girl got confused.
'Maybe we should call you and your parents to the police station and discuss how their daughter is obstructing the investigation?' Belka ignored her question.
Katya heaved a deep sigh.
'But I don't know where she is! I even don't get what the hell was that!'
'What do you mean?'
'Everything was fine. Dan and Kostik invited us to Dan to watch a movie. We've met them a couple of weeks ago, right before this stupid self-isolation. They are third-year students at Moscow State University.
'Dan lives in Stalin skyscraper?'
'Yes. We watched dorama, and then Dan said about a roof. He's kind of a roofer and wanted to show off. They suggested going upstairs to see the stunning views of Moscow. First, it was cool but then Liza went crazy. Literally.'
'What do you mean?'
'She began talking crap! Sort of that there was a man on the roof who was chasing her in her dreams. Like a ghost. But we were alone there! Liza got hysterical. She demanded on going downstairs.'
'She was high? What was it? Hallucination?'
'Oh, no! No way! Liza doesn't try even a cigarette and alcohol. I saw her so frightened like that for the first time, and by the way, we know each other since the first grade!'
'How did she explain it?'
'She didn't. We went downstairs. Kostik suggested walking around. Outside Liza calmed down. She apologized, said that she had just imagined things, and began flirting with Dan again as if nothing had happened. Then the guys wanted to smoke pot, and we went to that abandoned house.'
'What happened there?'
'Kostik said a bad joke, Dan burst into laughter, and Liza didn't like it. The guys suggested shooting funny videos during the next outing. Kostik joked that in case of refusal Dan would follow Liza in her dreams as a man from the roof. After that, she got pissed off and ran away.'
'Why didn't you stop her?'
'Well, I thought that like last time she would calm down outside and come back,' Katya confessed after pausing. 'I texted her; then I recalled that she had turned off her cell for avoiding her parents' calls. The guys finished smoking, we left the house, but she was gone. I tried to call her later, especially after a conversation with her parents. Then I decided to talk to Liza the next morning but she didn't show up online, even at the online lessons. I got scared that's why I didn't mention the guys and said that we had been hanging out at my apartment.'
'How did you come up with hanging out during the self-isolation?'
'We just wanted to see Dan and Kostik.'
'Police could stop you and fine you for a stay-home regime violation.'
'So what? We'd pay a fine of 1000 rubles. It's not a problem.'
'I see. Well, thanks for your cooperation! If you get news, call me back, please. Bye!'
Belka looked at me.
'What a crap! Do you believe in a man chasing Liza in her dreams? 'It looks like Liza got crazy if she thought she had seen a ghost on the roof.'
'I don't know whom she saw there, but it's a fact that something or someone scared her on the roof. We need to talk to Dan and hear his version of events.'
While Belka was trying to get through to Dan, I recalled a photo from the mysterious apartment where I had found a body. I got it out of my pocket and showed it to my friend.
'Do you happen to know what fitness club it is?'
Belka laughed in reply.
'No, fitness and I are incompatible!' She took a picture of the photo on her cell. 'I will try to find it out at home... Why Dan isn't answering?'
'Call him on Liza's phone. Maybe he doesn't accept calls from the unfamiliar numbers.'
We'd been trying to call Dan all evening, but we couldn't reach him. Even on our way home in Uber Belka was dialing his number but without result. Inhaling the flavor of warm meals in my hands, I was looking at the twinkling neon lights of the streets outside the car window and thinking my own thoughts. Maybe somewhere in the world, someone was also trying to find me...
The end of the sample.