MARIEL

19~ Do What You Do Best ~

Thursday, January 30th, 2020

The bitter, Moscow air nipped Mariel's face, and wind gusts thickened the atmosphere with snow. Above him, the buildings stood tall, contrasted against the grey skies, looming over him as if in judgment. The cold bite against his skin reminded him of his lingering humanity.

An engine hummed. The sound approached to his left.

Shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets, Mariel turned his head towards the engine's sound. The screaming wind numbed his ears. In the blistering snow, bright headlights pierced the white atmosphere, and a black Aurus Senat limousine appeared.

It was almost time.

Mariel shivered.

Tires crunched against the snow and rolled to a stop. Steam huffed from the limousine as it steamed before him. While he assessed the car, Mariel wondered if the driver would lower the window to expose the barrel of a pistol. Would this be another assassination attempt? Had Aleksey Petrov, the man he was about to meet in person, sent an assassin? He thought back to the figure at the hospital, the violent assassin who cost him an eye. The memory instigated a painful throb in his face where the surgeons had skillfully reconstructed his features.

There was no need to hesitate. He couldn't die anyway.

Mariel stepped forward, pulled the passenger door handle, and opened it. The vehicle's warmth touched his skin as he entered. Quickly, he shut the door and turned his eyes to the very front of the car where the driver waited.

"I am Ivan. You speak Russian?" The man, dressed in a suit, had a deep voice and a trimmed beard. Strands of grey highlighted his thick brown hair. He looked at Mariel in the rearview mirror.

"No. I don't."

"Ah. You settled now?"

"Huh?"

"In v'ack seat, you settled? Re'vy to go?" He raised his voice and gestured with his large hands. "You see, eh, President Petrov, correct? Mister Na'vier?"

"What? Oh yeah. Yes. I'm Nadier." Mariel shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. His knees touched the seat before him. Despite the discomfort, he felt like royalty. The discomfort meant nothing compared to the beat up cars Jerome made him drive.

Mariel abruptly remembered the sounds of the old man choking on his blood.

He put it out of his mind. That didn't matter now. He had greater purpose, far beyond the earthly cares Jerome always worried about.

"Okay, we go to Kremlin now." The tires spun against the snow-covered pavement and then the vehicle jolted forward.

Mariel adjusted the eyepatch. They'd been able to save the eye, even though they warned him that he might never regain sight. It would be ironic.

Mariel, the Horseman of Death, granted divine immortality, yet loss of sight. He'd scoffed at the medical team.

If he regained life, he would regain sight.

Despite the butterflies in his stomach, the heater's warmth and the gentle rhythm of the ride nearly lulled Mariel to sleep. His head rocked against the window and, for a very brief moment, he dreamt of Esther. The dream's imagery and feel of her sent both sorrow and pleasure through his body as he started awake to Ivan's voice.

"There's still time, you know."

"Huh?" Mariel shot upright, dizzied by the abrupt awakening. The car was still rolling. Ivan was looking at him through the mirror again.

"I said there's still time." But, Ivan's voice no longer contained a Russian accent. He did not speak rough English. Ivan spoke Hebrew, and Mariel began to tremble. Fear and anxiety twisted his gut.