M For Moscow

23 | steps two and three

Step number two: Renée Lorrieta
Strength: was supposedly another rape victim.
Weakness: might not agree to help.
Possible hater: Sergei Volkov

I arrived at Sierra Street 19/14 past noon Sakhalin-time and immediately got its name from the not-so-subtle red painted on all the apartment blocks. If I was any bit sleepy at the moment, the bright colour definitely knocked it out of me.

I ascended the steps and held the intercom button for Unit 2A, internally thanking Sophia for her impressive hacking skills in tracking down the addresses.

"Hello?" A girl spoke through the intercom.

"Hi! Sorry, hi. My name is Macy Rhodes, I'm a friend of Horatio's? I think he texted you that I was coming." I answered, a little bit too erratically at first.

"Come in on." she said, followed by a loud beep and the door being temporarily unlatched from its magnets.

I pushed it open and closed it behind me, careful to hear the click before I started making my way across the dark corridor and up the stairs. What was it with Russian apartments and dark hallways?

Thank God, I lived in a hotel.

The interior inside was painted the same colour as the outside and a part of me lingered on the idea that it was supposedly done that way. Perhaps a splatter scene or something with knives, maybe.

Each floor had two apartments and Renée's was on the second on the left. I knocked thrice and waited on her welcome mat.

When it was flung open, I was greeted with a gorgeous woman wearing a poncho on top of a pair of pastel jeans and rocking it. My mind was blown.

"Come in, come in!" she ushered me in and over to her pastel pink couches where a nice set of china was laid out on the coffee table.

"Wow." I replied, taking in my surroundings from the light blue curtains to the yellow of her pillow covers and of course, her outfit. "You have such a beautiful home and those shoes are to die for."

Everything about her place was the complete opposite of what I had just experienced walking in here.

As if reading my mind, she flopped elegantly onto the seat across from me and started pouring a cup of tea while talking.

"I'm so sorry that I made you walk through the hallway, I know it's not particularly pleasant," she said in a thick British accent that wasn't so audible unless she was saying words that started with a P, "You don't earn much as a waitress I'm afraid."

"You're a waitress?" I asked, reaching over to take the cup she extended towards me. I let it linger on my lips for a split second before deciding it was way too hot and placed it over my lap. Renée, on the other hand, took frequent sips from it, like she was drinking with the Queen.

"Part-time. It's hard to find work in a city like Moscow, but I had no choice after what happened." Renee explained before narrowing her eyes, "You're here to talk about it, aren't you?"

It was clear she had some power over me that I did not quite understand when I held the cup again to my mouth and gulped down the scorching tea.

"Yes."

She continued eyeing me like a snake until her lips twisted up into one of her model smiles where you're not totally smiling but you aren't not smiling either.