Page 240 of The Harbinger

The butterflies in my gut went wild as the plane descended, touching down just as the sun rose from the horizon.

My heart pounded as we stepped off the plane, passing through customs and snatching my luggage. I’d spent countless hours pouring over Google Maps, memorizing the address of his home, keeping it tucked away in my back pocket, waiting for this very moment.

I slumped into a taxi and handed him the paper. “Take me here,” I said in Russian, then sat back in my seat as he drove me away.

My eyes traced the familiar contours of the buildings, the same awe and wonder filling my chest as it had before. But this time, something was different. The Cyrillic words etched into the walls were no longer a mystery to me. They held a sense of nostalgia, a longing for a time long gone.

A memory flooded my mind of him leading me down these very streets, his stoic-like demeanor a sharp contrast to my exuberance. I missed him more than words could express. As we left the freeways behind and the streets turned to roads, my nerves began to fray. The car wound its way up the driveway, stopping in front of the familiar front door.

My breath caught in my throat as I gazed at it, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a jackhammer.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of my bag in my hand. I paid the driver and watched as he drove away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my nerves. It was time to face the past.

I stepped up to the door and knocked.

The seconds turned to minutes as I waited, yet no one came to the door. I put my hand on the knob and opened it. My heart hammered against my ribs, a primal beat that threatened to burst through my chest as my hand clenched the doorknob. My gaze bore into the lifeless structure, scanning for any signs of movement amidst the eerie silence.

My stomach churned as I stepped inside, taking a tentative step forward. The musty air was thick with the scent of neglect and abandonment.

I made my way through the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing through the house as I walked up the staircase. The walls that had once been adorned with artwork and pictures were now bare and desolate.

My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob of Sacha’s room.

I pushed the door open, and my heart sank.

The bed where we had spent the night talking was gone, along with all his clothes and belongings. It was as if he had never existed, as if our entire relationship had been a figment of my imagination.

Panic washed over me as I stumbled into my room. My bed, the books, the clothes… gone. Identical to the rest of the house.

“He left.”

Everything I’d come to know and love was gone. He was gone.

A tear trickled down my face as I sniffled. I couldn’t even remember where he worked. Moscow was a labyrinth, a maze of streets and buildings that seemed to go on forever. Finding him would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, but I had to try.

I sank to the ground, my phone slipping from my trembling fingers. I was lost, adrift in a sea of confusion and heartache.

But then, sharp, guttural barks shattered the silence, jerking me back to reality. I leaped to my feet, my senses on high alert.

“Yergi?”

If the dogs were here, he’d be here. He was their caretaker. Although he probably wouldn’t tell me anything. Not after all that had happened.

I shot up, my heart racing, and sprinted toward the sound of those feral beasts that had ripped Catherine to pieces. “Yergi?”

He stepped out of the barn, his hands stained with dirt and his jean overalls smeared with grime. He eyed me with a look of trepidation.

“Yergi. Where is he? Where did he go?” I said in Russian.

He halted in his tracks, his gaze lingering on me momentarily before speaking. “They’ve gone,” he said, his voice low and ominous.

My heart sank. “Where?”

“To the city.”

I needed more information. “Where does he work?”

“In the city,” he repeated, his voice dripping with irritation.

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