Shelter from the Devil

No Foul Play

The light had dawned, yet dreary clouds shrouded the sky like a mourning veil. Christian stepped out of the militia building, weary after a night in a cell. The girl? She's dead. The officer's harsh words echoed in his mind in a vicious loop. The girl? Anna. My Anna. What am I going to do without her?

Christian wandered the streets without direction. His encounter with the militia had left him with a severe limp, and pain shot up his stiff leg every time it met the pavement. "Fuck," he cried out once, startling a passing woman. Where the fuck am I? he thought before seeing the metro station marked "Park Kultury." He was near Gorky Park on the opposite bank of the Moscow River. He trudged into the station, bought a single token and passed through the turnstiles down to the platform.

The sound of screeching brakes shot out of a tunnel before a procession of rusted gray cars whizzed past him. The train came to a brusque stop, and the doors of the last car opened in a rolling clatter. The girl? She's dead. Christian claimed a seat at the back. Sitting opposite him was an older man, attired head to toe in fur. The man yawned, revealing a smile of gold. Boris, Christian thought. I need to find him.

It was a short ride to the next station, and after an escalator ride back to the surface, Christian was back on Leninsky Avenue heading toward the dead-end where Anna lived. She's gone. Anna is gone.

The sight of her ill-fated building took his breath away. How could this happen? Coming closer to the ruin, still cordoned off by militia, he noticed a red car parked at the edge of the perimeter. A red Lada. Boris' car.

Anna's father was leaning back against the hood of the Lada, watching the building. He turned and nodded at Christian who limped up to join him.

"I saw her at the morgue last night." Boris' voice was gravelly, and the smell of alcohol was thick on his breath. "I–I still can't believe it. Anna... Dead? How could this happen?"

"I know." Christian looked over at lone militia guard standing near the building. "Did they say anything?"

"The militia doesn't suspect foul play... they said it was just an accident." Boris looked at Christian and scoffed. "An accident."

Christian remained silent. There was nothing he could do, no one he could blame; not even himself. A fucking accident.

"I remember the day she was born," Boris said. "We were so happy, the three of us. If someone had told us we would lose her like this..." Boris shook his head, "...impossible."

Boris lifted his gaze to the sky and screamed like a sputtering madman, "Do you hear me up there, asshole? I worshiped you my entire life, and this is how you repay me?"

Boris' sudden burst of anger startled Christian. "Don't strain yourself," he said.

"I would damn myself to hell if it could bring her back," Boris said, his chest heaving, "even for a moment, just long enough to embrace her one last time." Boris slammed his fist into the hood of his car and turned away from the building. "Her absence, Christian... it's unbearable."

Her absence... "What are we going to do now?" Christian asked.

"The viewing," Boris said. "Tomorrow. I already took care of it."

"The what?"

"The funeral. Come to my apartment before eight."

"I'll be there," Christian said, before leaving Boris and limping toward Gorky Park.

Although he and Anna had tended to shy away from the park in winter, it was one of their favorite places. He went straight to their preferred spot, a bench overlooking a large pond–now frozen. He sat on his side of the bench, leaving hers empty. Sometimes they would meet here, and he almost expected to see Anna walking along the riverbank coming toward him. He looked out at the ice and reminisced about all the tender moments they had shared in the park: embracing one another, holding hands, sharing lively arguments over a cold drink of kvass. Anna, what happened last night? Please don't leave me... not you, too.

They had sat at this bench when he told her of the accident, the one that took both of his parents. Their loss had been nothing short of catastrophic, but nothing could have prepared him to lose the woman he loved.

This is where he would have asked her. Tomorrow would have marked their second year together, and for months he had planned to propose to her on that exact day. He had replayed the scenario in his head a thousand times. He would bring her here to this bench and... the ring. She never got to see it. This last thought made him wince. If his eyes were not already dry, he would have wept.

Still lost in thought, he puzzled over what Boris had said earlier. The viewing... will I be able to see Anna one last time? He had never been to a funeral, not even for his parents. But if he could see her... the ring, I could give it to her there. It was small consolation. But instead of asking her to become his wife, he would have to bury her.

Minutes turned into hours, and dusk settled over the capital. A chilly wind rose up from the icy pond, peppering Christian with loose bits of frost. It was as if the coming night wanted to chase him away, but, despite the growing stiffness in his leg, he remained on the bench, ever defiant–waiting for his love to reappear.