“You will leave tomorrow morning to St. Petersburg and they will give you all necessary information there.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I retorted. What if I didn’t want to do his bidding this time? What if all I wanted to do was to go home?
The sinister smile spreading across his face told me I wouldn’t have much choice.
“You want to know where Maya is, don’t you?” My interest piqued up, the anger rising up in my chest. He had a knowing smile on his face. How did he know I was looking for her?
I slowly nodded, concealing my emotions. He was my father, but he was also the monster that made me this way. He was the monster who sent Maya away, and the only one that knew where she was.
“If you do this,” he started, “I promise to tell you where she is.”
The apartment building in front of me was almost falling apart. It was as if this part of St. Petersburg was completely forgotten, left to rot in its misery, in its poverty. While the masses celebrated on the main streets, while the rich stole from the poor, there were people living in here, forgotten by everybody else. It probably made me a hypocrite, knowing how my family came into the money we had, but we at least never pretended to be angels God sent. We were more like demons, you know? Nightmares, really.
A young girl ran from the building, and from my spot on the sidewalk, I could clearly see how malnourished she was. Her blond hair was tied into a messy ponytail, and the clothes on her body probably did nothing to protect her from the awful winter weather. I wanted to believe that maybe one day she would be able to afford something better, but I’ve seen what this kind of life does to these kids. The peace she might be looking for could only be found ten feet below the ground. Never mind, the girl was of no concern to me.
I walked toward the entrance, the door already missing, making my task so much easier. The informant from the center told me Svetlana Avramova lived on the first floor, in apartment 12B. Thank God, because I wasn’t keen on dragging my ass up to the higher floors, seeing as there was no elevator.
My back still ached with a dull pain from the little ordeal back in Siberia, and I just hoped that the painkillers they pumped me with would last through this whole thing. I still wasn’t at my full strength, and while a single woman with her child wasn’t the biggest threat, you never knew what a mother would do when her child was in danger.
The stairs creaked beneath the soles of my boots, the remnants of cigarette butts, used needles and condom wrappers all over the place. I understood why they lived here. It was easy going off the grid, because a sane person would never step foot in this building.
Scratch that—they wouldn’t step a foot in this neighborhood.
The old Soviet buildings usually had only a few apartments per floor, and it didn’t take me long to locate 12B, standing just at the end of the hallway. I looked around to make sure that nobody else was there with me and taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for what was to come. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to appear more disheveled, but I hoped that the dark circles around my eyes, courtesy of the time spent in Siberia, would at least give away the sight of a person with a very bad life.
Acting like a damsel in distress never really worked for me, but I had to try.
“Pomogi mne, pozhaluysta,” I banged on the door, faking a panic in my voice. “Pozhaluysta! On ub’yet menya.”
It always worked with women, telling them somebody else was after you, especially the women who already went through something similar. In those moments, they tended to forget everything about their own safety. Only the urge to help another poor woman was there, coursing through their bodies.
“Pozhaluysta.” I continued knocking, pushing the tears at my eyes. “Pozhaluysta, otkroyte dver’.”
Just as I was about to decide to knock the door down, and fuck everything else, the sounds of chains being removed traveled to my ears, and I knew I had her. But, seriously, who would open a door like this?
A woman I already saw in pictures stood there just a head shorter than me. Her dark hair framed her face, and the compassion on her face almost made me laugh. If she only knew.
“Bednyazhka.” She opened the door wider. “Zakhodi.” Get inside.
The interior of the apartment, if this could even be called an apartment, was almost barren. A lone couch sat on the other side, closer to the windows and a little boy stood just in front, looking at me with curious little eyes. His hair was the same color as his mother’s, but his eyes definitely belonged to his father.
Ocean blue.
I scanned my surroundings, seeing a chair next to the table on my right side. Perfect.
“Kto,” Svetlana spoke, but just as she locked the door, I turned to her and grabbed the back of her neck with my hand.
“Privet, Svetlana,” I whispered in her ear as I pushed her onto the wall. “Do you know who I am?”
She started struggling, trying to break free, except that won’t work with me. I pressed my index finger and thumb on the sides of her neck. She started whimpering and stopped immediately.
“Ne delay nam bol’no.” Don’t hurt us. It always fascinated me how hopeful these people still were, even after they saw the executioner with their own two eyes.
“I know you speak English, Svetlana, so cut the crap and stop pretending.” I turned her to me and slammed her head on the wall, her eyes closing with impact. “Do you know who I am?”
She opened her eyes, the blood vessels breaking from the impact with the wall.
“You’re a devil.” What did I just say? She does speak English.
“Oh my God.” I faked the excitement. “How did you know my nickname? Are we going to be besties now?”
She sneered at me, and I smiled at the sheer bravery this woman was showing. She still didn’t answer me, but living this life, being with that man, meant she knew more than she was showing. She knew who I was and why I was here.
She kept glancing toward the little boy who stood still in the same spot. If only she knew. I pushed her onto the chair and pulled out the two zip ties I stored in the pocket of my coat. I started tying her hands together, tightening the hold. I pulled the other chair and sat across from her, resting my elbows on my knees.
“For the last time, Svetlana.” She looked at me again. “Do you know who I am?”
Her lower lip trembled, but the scowl on her face, and no doubt, her pride, prevented her from crying in front of me. Well, maybe I could admire her before taking her life. Most men would start crying as soon as they saw me.
“I don’t know who you are,” she spoke. “But I’ve heard of you. We all have.”
Fascinating.
“Oh yeah? Tell me, I wanna know.”
“You’re Baba Yaga. Death, destruction.”
Baba Yaga? Now, that was a nickname I could get behind. The other ones usually sounded too boring. Murderer, psychopath, assassin, people really weren’t creative enough.
“And do you know why I’m here?” I stood up and slowly walked toward the boy. I sat on the couch and tapped the spot next to me. “Prikhodit’.”
“Please don’t hurt him.” I looked at her, panic written all over her face. Weakness. This little boy was her biggest weakness, and what did I do with those? I exploited them, took them and made their hearts bleed when what they wanted to protect the most was torn away from them.