Stepan was silent for a long time.
“His eyes…” he said at last. “He had the wrong kind of eyes. He smiled, said the right words, did the right things. But his eyes… They were dead. Like a doll’s.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“You loved him. Love is blind—those aren’t just words.”
Daria sniffled.
“I still… Dad, I still feel something. It’s horrible. I know who he is. I heard what he said about me. But a part of me still…”
She didn’t finish. Stepan hugged his daughter.
“It’s normal. Eight months is a long time. Feelings don’t just switch off. But they will pass. When this is all over, they will pass.”
“And if they don’t?”
“They will. I promise.”
They went back into the house. Nadezhda was sitting in the kitchen, pale, with a cup of cold tea in her hands.
“What happens next?” she asked.
Stepan sat down next to his wife and took her hand.
“Next, we do what we’ve always done. Protect our family. At any cost.”
“I’m scared, Stepa.”
“Me too. But there’s no other way. If we just cancel the wedding, he’ll disappear. And in a year or two, he’ll find another victim. And another. And another. How many women have to die before he’s stopped?”
Nadezhda nodded. She understood. She always understood.
“What should I do tonight? When he comes?”
“The same as usual. Smile. Serve him dinner. Talk about the wedding.”
“I can’t. I’ll hit him. Or… I don’t know. I can’t do it.”
“Mom,” Daria sat down next to her mother. “You can. For me. For all those women he killed. We have to.”
Nadezhda gave her daughter a long look. Then she slowly nodded.
“Alright. I’ll try.”
Stepan left the women to prepare dinner and locked himself in his study. He needed to find the place where Artem had dropped off Zhanna. He rewatched the recording dozens of times, pausing on every frame where anything outside was visible. A piece of a wall. Part of a sign. The corner of a lamppost. After two hours, he figured it out. An old industrial area on the outskirts. A former factory, now abandoned. Nearby were residential buildings from the Soviet era.
He called Saveliev.
“Found it. The industrial zone near the old cannery. There are a few residential buildings there.”
“Excellent. I’ll check it out. I’ve got something too.”
“What?”
“Kira Melnikova. 28 years old. Died two years ago, fell from a ninth-floor balcony. Case was closed as an accident. But there’s an interesting detail in the file.”
“What is it?”
Comments are closed.