Page 95 of The Harbinger
The burn of his belt around my wrists.
I took another hard look at his fingers interlaced with mine, his watch glinting in the sunlight, then shook my hand out of his, wishing things could have been different between us. Maybe if my standing wasn’t so uncertain.
He’d hide his bruises and harsh touch beneath generosity, massages, and compliments. But he couldn’t wash over the lingering sensation of his hand, etched into memory like a permanent scar. Not to mention how he degraded me to the point where my body wasn’t my own but a rebellious sack that thrived on his humiliation and poisonous attention. I was sick, and so was he, but we didn’t need to feed off each other. One of us should be able to resist.
The people around us whispered his name as if it were carried on the wind and deposited at the gates of heaven with their praise attached. I pulled my arm across my body and latched onto my elbow with my other hand, keeping it firmly in place as though it were an impenetrable fortress.
“How do they know your name?”
“Because I’m well known throughout Russia and the world. Not just from what I’ve done, but also through my papa’s efforts.”
“And what does your father do?”
“We’ll discuss that another day.”
Sacha placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me towards a monument with a fire blazing in the center of a square cement platform. Red flowers adorned the bottom step with wreaths at each end.
Two military members dressed in black uniforms and white gloves held rifles to their chests, standing guard over the monument. The heavy weight of sadness pressed down on me as I fought the burning in my eyes. A deafening silence hung in the air, erasing the murmuring legion gathering behind. It almost felt sacrilegious to speak in such a place.
I leaned into Sacha. “What is this for?” Even the slightest whisper sent echoes bouncing off the curved white building before us.
“A memorial for unknown soldiers who’ve perished in the wars,” Sacha whispered back.
My skin chilled as a small breeze twisted my hair around my shoulders, and the eternal flames danced.
Sacha pressed his hand into the small of my back, moving us away. Somehow, I’d forgotten his touch hadn’t moved as we’d stood overlooking the somber memorial.
He guided us towards the steps where large white pillars lined the curved building, hiding tall wooden doors with golden wreaths adorning the square glass. Two-foot-long spear-like door handles were mounted vertically in gold.
The first two guards opened the doors, and the other two dissipated the crowds behind us as we walked into the building.
The heavy realness sunk into my being, making my feet leaden. Was this why he wasn’t concerned about me going to the police? Everyone looked on at him with adoration yet kept a healthy distance as though driven by fear.
Sacha was an important and revered man. Not even the staff in his home cared what he did with me. So why would the police?
A tall man with a crooked nose stalked towards us, his lips pinched together as his shiny dress shoes clipped along the floor with his hasty pace.
I tucked into Sacha, placing his shoulder directly in front of me as this man held out his hand and shook Sacha’s.
“Dobryy den’, Alexander Ruslanovich.”
I tuned them out and studied the massive chandeliers on each side of the balconies with a large staircase leading up to the second floor. Bronze helmets and machine guns lined the center of the staircase, along with lights inside bronze wooden stumps.
The chaotic conversations vibrating and bouncing off the walls were in marked contrast to the respectful murmurings outside. A door opened at the top of the steps, and a few people filed through, allowing the contents of the domed room to pour out.
Sacha’s conversation held his attention as I glanced around, then slowly shifted to the left towards the stairs that led down to the lower floor. When I turned back to him to see if he’d noticed my departure, I caught the corner of his eye and the slight nod of his head.
My stomach dropped, and Ivan walked my way, his head swiveling as he searched for anyone coming near us.
Was there anything Sacha didn’t know? Was he always on alert, ready for anything?
“I just wanted to see what was down here,” I said as Ivan stalked closer, taking a single step down the stairs so the wall partially blocked my view of Sacha. “What’s the point of visiting a museum if I can’t see it, right?”
Ivan glanced towards Sacha and frowned, then back to me. I took another step down the stairs, and he allowed it but followed. I turned and hit the bottom of the stairs and paused, awe-stricken.
Hanging from the top of the ceiling were tens of thousands of thin gold metal chains illuminated by cannula lights above, giving them a ponderous gold wave effect down the hall. On either side of the hall were cabinets with open books, and at the dead end was an ivory-white carved statue of a woman crying over a fallen man.
My heels echoed against the reverent walls as if mocking the saint-like area. The weeping woman pulled me, urging me to witness her tragedy. A chill chased my footsteps as I stepped into the room. The gold chains branched out overhead, morphing into a halo above, lying credence to her agony.