Chapter 36 #2
“Well, just for that, I’m going to return the favor of asking a rude question.” I study the board, moving my king again. She has me in a tough spot; I have few options to win. I know I shouldn’t ask this question. I know it’s awful, but I need to know. “How did your brother die?”
She sucks in a startled breath, and her fingers freeze above her remaining pieces.
Her eyes jump to mine. “You mean Dmitri?” She sets her hands in her lap, looking down at the board.
“There was an accident,” she whispers, as she slowly moves a shaking hand to her queen and quickly positions her piece.
“Check.” She speaks so quietly that without vampire hearing, I would miss it. “He fell down a mining ravine.”
She gazes out the window, lost in her own thoughts. “We used to hang out at this ravine. It was dumb, but it was a peaceful spot; it had a good view. And well, I’m sure you might have deduced, in order to live under the radar, we had to engage in some activities that weren’t strictly legal.”
Her lips twitch at my retreat, and she chases my king with her rook.
“Do I have to say it?” she asks.
I dip my chin, if only to keep her talking.
“Check.” She pushes a curl out of her face.
“The ravine was our meeting place, before or after making drops. A month before he died, he took on a serious job without me. He wouldn’t share what it was.
Not our usual counterfeiting work or stolen merch.
He kept taking calls, leaving in the middle of the night to meet an old friend, Sergey, who had some shady connections.
I could see the pressure eating away at him.
We had a big fight. Afterward, he promised he’d pull out of the job. ”
I examine the board. She’s got me pretty good. I can only see one way out, so I move my king to d2.
She lets out a strangled sigh but continues, “About a week later, we took a standard counterfeit drop. We were supposed to meet at the ravine around sunset, but he texted me that we should meet at home instead because of an incoming storm. He was very explicit, don’t go to the ravine.
So I went home. And I waited for hours. He never showed.
I drove to all his usual hangouts. I called every police station, jail, and hospital; no one had seen him.
” Her eyes take on a glassy sheen. “Finally, I went to the ravine. I found him dead at the bottom.” She lets out a slow breath, and without looking at the board, she adjusts her bishop and whispers, “Checkmate.”
I stare at her for a long moment while she gazes blankly out the window. Eventually, I find my voice. “I’m sorry, Lena.” I reach across the table and run my thumb over her knuckles.
She watches my fingers stroke the back of her hand before meeting my eyes. “I don’t know why he went. I don’t know if he slipped, maybe because of the rain, or if he jumped. It’s haunted me ever since.”
“How did you find him in the dark?”
“I don’t really remember. I think I was in shock.
I must’ve climbed down. I just remember finding him, dead and bloody.
I called emergency services, and he was pronounced dead at the scene.
” Tears collect in her waterline, but they don’t fall.
I get the sense that this clever, brave girl has shed too many recently.
“I understand. I know what it’s like,” I share, mindful of the quiet reverence in the room.
“You know my family died. My father and my sisters. I had four older sisters. They were my world. All beautiful and bright and could kick my ass any day. When they died, a piece of me went into the afterlife with them.”
She turns her hand over, intertwining her fingers with mine and squeezing lightly. “Being a survivor is hard.” Lena gives me a small sad smile.
“But that is what you are, úmnitsa.” I swallow down my own tears. She nods once and gently untangles her fingers from mine.
Her fingers pat the back of my hand lightly before she pushes back her chair and stands.
“It’s what we both are.” With a solemn sigh, she turns to the door.
Her hand pauses on the knob. She looks over her shoulder, meeting my eyes, and gently intones, “‘Bez lyubvi zhit’ legche…no bez neye net smysla.’” Then she’s gone, closing the door behind her without another word.
I fight the ball of emotion that sits tight in my throat, refusing to acknowledge it any further.
Rather, I study the chessboard, replaying each move of our game.
How did I lose? As I shift the pieces around the board, I start to see it.
Clever, clever girl. It was a careful strategic play that started the moment she walked into the room.
In our first game, she came out swinging aggressively, her moves lacking measured skill.
The second game, I took for granted that she would play similarly to her first. So I rose to match her clumsy brutal swings with my own aggressive play.
But she set up a flexible pawn structure and prepared for counterattacks.
She played the Petrosian System within the classic King’s Indian Defense, and I never saw it coming.
Who is this woman who can swindle me at my own game, with an impenetrable mental shield, who smells like roses and my favorite cocktails and quoted Tolstoy to me…in Russian?
I shake my head and repeat her parting words out loud in English, “‘It is easier to live without love, but without it, there is no point.’” Well played, úmnitsa. Well played.