Katya wandered through the alleys of the old park. The leaves rustled under her feet. The pond was gloomy, gray, and rippled by the wind.
\”Maybe I should just disappear?\” she thought. \”Move to another city. Start all over. But then my parents would sell the house. And Igor and Zhanna would win.\”
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a thin, desperate cry.
— Help! Somebody!
Katya looked up. The cry came from the direction of the pond. She ran. Near the shore, where the old wooden planks went into the water, something small was struggling. A boy, about seven years old. He was clinging to the slippery boards, but his hands kept slipping. He wasn’t screaming anymore. Just gasping for air as he went under the icy water. And a little further in the water, a wet ball of fur was whining. A puppy, which was probably the cause of it all.
Katya didn’t hesitate for a second. Fear, depression, exhaustion—it all vanished. She threw off her coat as she ran and jumped into the water. The cold burned her body like a thousand needles. Her clothes immediately became soaked, pulling her down.
— Hold on! — she shouted, swimming toward the boy.
She grabbed his jacket just as the boy disappeared under the water. She pulled him up. The boy coughed. He clung to her with a death grip.
— The puppy! Save the puppy! — he cried.
Katya held the child with one arm and reached for the struggling little one with the other. She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Now she had to get out. Her legs were cramping. The shore seemed impossibly far, though it was only three meters away.
— My hand! Give me your hand, girl!
From the wooden planks, an elderly man in an orange janitor’s vest was reaching for her. \”Dmitrich\”—that’s what everyone in the park called him. He grabbed Katya’s wrist with his sinewy, strong hand and pulled them up with a jerk. People were already gathering on the shore. Someone had called an ambulance.
— He’s alive! Alive, thank God! — some woman lamented, wrapping the boy in her scarf.
The paramedics arrived quickly. Artem—that was the boy’s name, who turned out to be from an orphanage—was taken to the hospital. Katya was left standing, her teeth chattering from the cold. The puppy trembled in her arms, nuzzling her neck with its wet nose.
— Well now, heroine? — Dmitrich remarked carefully. — Come with me, or you’ll get sick, for goodness sake. I’ve got my stove heated.
The janitor’s lodge smelled of firewood and cheap tobacco. Dmitrich poured her a mug of boiling hot water with raspberry and gave her an old sheepskin coat. The puppy, rubbed dry with a rough towel, was already asleep by the stove, twitching its paws comically.
— What’s your name, mermaid? — Dmitrich asked, adding a log to the fire.
— Katya.
— And I’m Dmitrich. And this little fellow… — the janitor nodded at the puppy, — we’ll call him Boatswain. He’s got a rather deep voice. And he’s a good swimmer. I served in the navy, I know a thing or two.
Katya watched the fire, feeling the warmth return to her body.
— Thank you.
— No, thank you. The boy could have drowned.
Just then, the phone in the pocket of her dried coat beeped. A message from Andrey:
\”Katya, Galina did the analysis. It’s a plant-based poison. Come back, we’re going to nail them.\”
She smiled and petted the sleeping little one.
— Well, Boatswain, it’s time to fight the pirates.
The laptop screen flickered in the semi-darkness of Andrey’s apartment, casting blue reflections on Katerina’s pale face. She sat, hugging herself, unable to tear her eyes away from the video recording. The image was black and white, but the essence of what was happening was perfectly clear. On the screen, her husband was pacing the living room, a phone pressed to his ear.
— Just listen, I’ll pay it all back. The house deal is in the bag. There’s a delay with the documents. A week, two at most. Don’t start the meter, I’m begging you. — A pause. Igor listened to the person on the other end. His face on the screen twisted in fear. — No, I’m not hiding. I’m sick, really. I’m bedridden.
— And the money?
— Four million. Yes, all at once. Just don’t touch me.
Katya pressed the spacebar. The video froze. Andrey, standing behind her, sighed heavily and placed a hand on the back of the chair.
— It’s all gambling debts. Your husband doesn’t have an autoimmune disease. He lost everything he had. And he’s selling you, your parents, just to save his own skin. Do you understand who you’re dealing with now? — Andrey asked quietly, crouching in front of her.
Katya lowered her hands. There were no more tears in her eyes. There was only cold calculation.
— I’m ready. What’s the plan?
— We wait for a call, — he replied. — Igor will panic and try to speed things up, which means he’s bound to make a mistake…
