Chapter 26 #2
I read it twice before the words hold still, each line placing another invisible man on Grandma's street.
Konstantin would send guards within minutes. Vehicles would close the street. Whoever took the photograph could be watching for that response, ready to act when his people moved toward Grandma.
The stalker wants me to picture that response, but his manipulation doesn't erase the danger.
He has reached the one person I kept outside the gates. He knows which market delivered her bread, and he knows no family guards stand at her house. Whether he learned why or guessed from their absence, I can't tell.
The final text appears.
Wednesday at eleven at night, answer this number alone. Tell me you understand. Warn him before then. She learns what his protection does.
Six days.
He has given me six days to fear what he might do to Grandma.
"Nora?" Irina stands across the cutting table. She hasn't moved closer, but her gaze has fixed on the hand gripping my phone.
"Is something wrong?"
I almost tell her the stalker photographed Grandma, placing her in danger. I need help.
Then I picture black vehicles surrounding the narrow house while neighbors look through curtains.
I picture men with guns waiting beside the door Grandma opens to anyone who needs soup, a spare key, or help carrying groceries.
If the stalker stood within camera range of Grandma, Konstantin's arrival could begin the violence promised on my screen.
"A patient wrote about soreness after today's cleaning," I say. "I told her it may happen, but people become nervous once they get home."
The lie tastes bitter.
Irina's eyes remain on me. "You look frightened."
Before I can answer, Anton enters carrying a thin black folder.
He crosses to Irina, placing the folder near her hand. "The port patriarch has answered the route closure. He has frozen two of our cargo houses, and he threatens to seize the next leased aircraft entering his terminals. The security room needs you to review the response before anyone acts."
Every woman in the room turns toward him.
When Irina opens the folder, the patriarch's seal appears above a list of affected routes on the first page. As she begins reading, her attention leaves my phone.
"Where did this come from?" she asks.
"His office delivered it through the terminal liaison. He claims the western closure is an attack on port sovereignty and demands reversal before morning."
As Galina rises, Larissa sets down the stroller handle. The warm room seems to tighten around the possibility of a new front in the port war.
Anton looks at me only once. "Are you unwell?"
"Tired."
"Then sit. I'll have someone bring food." He looks concerned, almost kind. The interruption spares me from Irina's attention.
While they examine the packet, I lock my phone and slide it under the folded coat on the chair. My hands feel cold. The photograph remains behind the dark screen, unchanged by the fact that no one else can see it.
I don't delete the messages. If something happens to Grandma, this number and photograph may be the only trail leading back to the man watching her.
I save nothing elsewhere because any family device could expose the threat before I decide what to do.
I turn off notification previews, then change the phone setting that wakes the screen when a message arrives.
I know what Konstantin would do if I told him. He would close every road around Grandma's house, remove her from the neighborhood, and tear through the city until he found the man watching her. I love the certainty of that response.
The same certainty could fill Grandma's street with weapons before we know who is watching.
For years, I've avoided asking anyone to rearrange life for me. Now asking may bring armed strangers to Grandma's door, while silence leaves her unguarded beneath the stalker's camera. That old habit is making me hesitate to ask for protection when Grandma needs it most.
The women gather around Irina while Anton answers questions about the packet's delivery. Dasha reaches back without looking, finds my hand, and squeezes it while she listens.
Kindness makes the secret harder to hold.
Near dinner, Grandma calls. I leave the sewing room and answer from the locked bathroom at the end of the hall.
Her voice comes through bright and unsuspecting. She describes the bread, complains that the jam jar is too small and tells me the delivery man carried both bags inside the entry because he refused to make her take two trips.
I ask whether anyone else came to the door.
"No. Why?"
"Security asked me to check deliveries after the train."
The second lie comes faster. I hate how little effort it takes.
Grandma says the market clerk was polite and never gave her reason to notice a camera. When I ask whether she can stay home tonight, she laughs and reminds me that the evening temperature has already made that decision.
"Come stay at my apartment through the weekend," I say. "The house has been too quiet since the weather turned."
Grandma goes silent. "You haven't slept in that apartment since your wedding. If you want me moved, tell me why."
"The train frightened me. I would feel better knowing you weren't alone."
"Then come tell me the truth, and I'll pack a bag."
I can't explain the photograph without bringing the response he threatened. I can't ask her to abandon her home while pretending the request costs nothing.
"Call me before bed," I say.
"I always do."
After we hang up, I press my palms against the cool stone counter. Nausea rises without any connection to food, tightening under my ribs until I breathe through my nose and swallow it back.
Next, I call the neighbor whose brass key hangs beside Grandma's door.
Until I know more, I ask her to keep the porch camera recording, notice any unfamiliar car, and call before asking Grandma to help with anything outside.
Although she hears the strain I fail to hide, she accepts the request without demanding an explanation.
I have refused every armed guard, leaving Grandma with one ordinary pair of eyes on the house.
My phone shows the stalker's final message above Grandma's photograph.
Wednesday at eleven at night.
Until then, he expects me to act normal while he watches whether I obey.