Page 16 of Ricochet
“My name is Ophelia Ekaterina Aster.”
“And are you ready now, Ophelia?”
For the first time in my life, he called me Ophelia. Not Ekaterina, not darling, not a little dragon, but by my name. A name given to me by his father, which he never wanted to acknowledge. Was I ready? I almost didn’t want to answer, but if I were to start being who I wanted to be, I had to suppress my fear.
If I were to take him down one day, I had to stand tall and face everything he was throwing my way.
“For what, Papa?”
“To be who you were always meant to be.”
I lifted my head, the last atoms of strength slipping from my grip, but I wouldn’t fail now. I wouldn’t bow my head to him. Not now, not ever again.
“And who is that?” I asked. “Who am I meant to be?”
He touched the crown of my head, a faraway look in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I would dare to say that he looked wistful. Almost human.
“A true leader,dorogoy.” He removed the strands of hair falling on my face. “A leader of Syndicate.”
His form was blurring in front of my eyes. My head felt heavy, the wounds on my back throbbing, and I just wanted to sleep. I needed to rest.
“Papa—” I started, but he cut me off before I could say what I wanted to say.
“I have a job for you.”
My eyes snapped open, the aggravation rising up in me. Did this man see what I looked like right now?
“You will leave tomorrow morning to St. Petersburg and they will give you all necessary information there.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I retorted. What if I didn’t want to do his bidding this time? What if all I wanted to do was to go home?
The sinister smile spreading across his face told me I wouldn’t have much choice.
“You want to know where Maya is, don’t you?” My interest piqued up, the anger rising up in my chest. He had a knowing smile on his face. How did he know I was looking for her?
I slowly nodded, concealing my emotions. He was my father, but he was also the monster that made me this way. He was the monster who sent Maya away, and the only one that knew where she was.
“If you do this,” he started, “I promise to tell you where she is.”
* * *
The apartment buildingin front of me was almost falling apart. It was as if this part of St. Petersburg was completely forgotten, left to rot in its misery, in its poverty. While the masses celebrated on the main streets, while the rich stole from the poor, there were people living in here, forgotten by everybody else. It probably made me a hypocrite, knowing how my family came into the money we had, but we at least never pretended to be angels God sent. We were more like demons, you know? Nightmares, really.
A young girl ran from the building, and from my spot on the sidewalk, I could clearly see how malnourished she was. Her blond hair was tied into a messy ponytail, and the clothes on her body probably did nothing to protect her from the awful winter weather. I wanted to believe that maybe one day she would be able to afford something better, but I’ve seen what this kind of life does to these kids. The peace she might be looking for could only be found ten feet below the ground. Never mind, the girl was of no concern to me.
I walked toward the entrance, the door already missing, making my task so much easier. The informant from the center told me Svetlana Avramova lived on the first floor, in apartment 12B. Thank God, because I wasn’t keen on dragging my ass up to the higher floors, seeing as there was no elevator.
My back still ached with a dull pain from the little ordeal back in Siberia, and I just hoped that the painkillers they pumped me with would last through this whole thing. I still wasn’t at my full strength, and while a single woman with her child wasn’t the biggest threat, you never knew what a mother would do when her child was in danger.
The stairs creaked beneath the soles of my boots, the remnants of cigarette butts, used needles and condom wrappers all over the place. I understood why they lived here. It was easy going off the grid, because a sane person would never step foot in this building.
Scratch that—they wouldn’t step a foot in this neighborhood.
The old Soviet buildings usually had only a few apartments per floor, and it didn’t take me long to locate 12B, standing just at the end of the hallway. I looked around to make sure that nobody else was there with me and taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for what was to come. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to appear more disheveled, but I hoped that the dark circles around my eyes, courtesy of the time spent in Siberia, would at least give away the sight of a person with a very bad life.
Acting like a damsel in distress never really worked for me, but I had to try.
“Pomogi mne, pozhaluysta,” I banged on the door, faking a panic in my voice. “Pozhaluysta! On ub’yet menya.”
