Ivan the Horrible

Five: The Voices

Ivan had accompanied his mother and Steven while they sold their fish and firewood. Two days had passed since the grizzly murders of his new friends. The village now seemed so... quiet. Everyone had shifty eyes. This gave Ivan the constant feeling of being watched. He couldn't blame the villagers, though. Paranoia was racing through everyone's hearts'.

"The police are still working," Aida muttered, turning the three's attention to the small police force making there way down the cobblestone street. There must've been a new development however. One officer carried something rather large and shrouded in a leather bag. The sheriff made his way to the front of the line of officers, heading towards the village square. Villagers left their shopping stalls to gather, for the officers had something important to announce.

"We've concluded that Clara and Alexander's murder was not an animal attack," the sheriff called in a loud voice. "Any footprint evidence was lost when the morning snow melted, and Clara and Alex had no bad relations with any of us as we know of. We have deduced that the murder weapon is in fact, this axe right here."

The officer holding the leather bag stepped up and unveiled the humble axe. The wooden hilt of the tool was chipped, splitting from use and time. It had been cleaned of blood, and innocent looking tool everyone was familiar with. Axes weren't weapons, and weren't meant to split people open with. The dull blade looked heavy. A thin coat of rust covered the iron head.

"If anyone recognizes this axe, or has any information on the owner, please see us immediately," the sheriff pleaded. The officer showed the circling villagers the axe to see if anyone had any leads. Sadly, nobody spoke up.

"We are going to leave pictures of the axe in Marley's Tavern. If anyone hears anything or sees anything, you can also report anonymously to the station," the sheriff finished.

Ivan watched as the axe was slipped back into its cover and taken away. It looked heavy. Ivan couldn't help but let his mind picture what kind of wounds a heavy old rusted axe would make. A shiver trailed down his spine as he thought about the blood spilling on the floor.

Finally, a voice did speak up. It was Steven's and was as condescending as ever.

"Maybe it was a trader. Someone with a screwed up head just passing through the night!" He hissed.

"Wait! Clara and Alex knew the dog sledders from Wesland's company. Maybe someone came to settle a bad deal!" A woman called from within the crowd. All of the officers turned and gave the their full attention crowd.

"Did anyone see when they went home last night?" The sheriff called.

Ivan felt his heart skip. He was the last person to see them alive. Sweat trailed down the back of his neck as the memories of his father's "investigation" crept into his mind.

"Yeah, Ivan!" Steven yelled and shoved him forward. Ivan barely budged, for his immense strength and size kept him grounded, but now, all eyes were on him.

"What time did they leave?" Someone shouted.

"Did you all have too much to drink and fight?

"Did you see anyone following them?"

"Why would somebody go after Clara?"

The voices were deafening as suddenly Ivan was bombarded with so many questions. People neared him in curiosity, and anger. He could feel threatening eyes hovering on him as some of the men began circling him.

"Where did you cone from, Ivan?" A low voice questioned. "You hardly knew Clara and Alex, so why kill them?!"

"Excuse me?" Ivan choked out at the accusation. He felt his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"You heard me. You're an outlander! Suddenly this Russian shows up we now we have a murder of two good people!" The man continued. Ivan clenched his hand into a fist.

"I lived here as a child, they knew me, and were kind! I would never!" Ivan defended himself. His heart was racing as the police now were standing next to him.

"Ivan, we need you to come with us for questioning," the sheriff said in a stern voice.

"I understand," was all Ivan muttered before following after the officers. Ivan felt his mother's hand slip away from his shoulder.

"Ivan!" She called, her voice shaky. She said nothing more though, for whether she'd like to admit it, there was a sliver of truth to the wild accusations.

***

Hours of questioning had finally come to an end. Ivan gently knocked on the front door with freezing and cracked knuckles. As he waited for his mother to let him in, he glanced over at the small wood pile stacked at the side of the house. His axe stuck out of the cutting stump.

"What a horrible end," he thought solemnly.

The front door swung open. Ivan felt instant relief from frigid winds as he stepped inside. Aida hurried away and sat at the kitchenette. Ivan shut the door and locked it behind himself. He turned and gave a puzzled look to his mother.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a gentle voice.  Aida shook her head, silent for a moment, but when she spoke, Ivan felt like he was about to crumble at her words.

"What happened that night, Ivan?" She questioned with anger in her words.

"I don't know. We said good bye and I went home. Nobody followed us out of the bar, but anything could've happened after I left town square," he paused, and licked his chapped lips. The taste of frozen blood flicked across his tongue. He inhaled and said as calmly as he could, "do you think I killed them?"

Aida held her tongue for a second, contemplating what to say. She chose her words carefully and answered, "you were the last person to see them, you should've said something sooner."

"I didn't want to get in the way of there investigation. I really don't have any knowledge on what happened," Ivan finished, ending there discussion. His stomach was empty from hours of questioning, but he went straight to him room, leaving his mother alone in the dark.

Ivan sighed and sat on the small bed. He placed his face in his hands and shuddered. Did everyone think he was a killer? His mother knew what brought him to Alaska... did she suspect he killed his own father too? All of these emotions began pouring out, anger, sadness, frustration... Ivan whimpered softly to himself and squeezed his hand into a fist.

He reached under the bed, taking the rifle out from where it lay. During the interrogation, he heard that a small group of villagers were going to patrol the streets at night. If he could join them, maybe that would show he was an innocent man. As he felt like getting back up, something held him down. A strong desire to sleep.