Page 41 of Vasily the Hammer

Where is he?

“Vasya?” I say as calmly as I can because there’s gotta be a reasonable explanation for this there’s just gotta be but where is he “Vasya, wake up! Wake—!”

I let out a little shriek as he suddenly rolls over me, reaches into the space between the bed and the headboard,produces a gun from the space between the bed and the headboard,and points it at the door.

He blinks a couple times as I work to unfreeze myself and stop my heart from heart-attacking.

“Shit, sorry,” he groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the butt of his gun, something we’re going to have a serious talk about in the morning. He looks down at me and frowns. “What is it,zvyozdochka?Are you okay?”

“I—uhh . . . I—where’s Artom?”

“Fuck, what?” Hebreathes and rolls back into his spot as he tucks the gun back into its spot.

“Artom!” I hiss at him. Good grief, it’s not like I’m asking about some random person here. “Where’s Artom?”

He sits up, and the look on his face has my heart pounding all over again because it’s not surprise I’m seeing, it’s sadness. WhereisArtom?

“Oh,zvyozdochka,I’m sorry. It’s just been so long that I’m surprised you would have remembered him of all people.”

“What do you mean? How could I forget him? I mean, yeah, amnesia, but...”

He pulls me up in a big hug that feels as much for him as it is for me. “I suppose, but you knew him so briefly before he died.”

Everything stops.

How can it not.

How can he say that so smoothly.

How can

How can this be possible.

I cover my mouth with my hand. I don’t even know why. No sound was coming out of it. No breath. This is impossible.

I try to wrap my brain around this. I try to grab a single memory because it’s gottagottabe there it’s gotta but it’s all gone and what do I do if it never comes back and it’s just gone and

And I break.

“What do you mean, our son died?”

Chapter 14

Vasily

Our son.

The words are like the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head, threatening to destroy me.

Our son.

It’s impossible. We don’t have a son. I would know if I had a son. Someone would have told me. Ana would have come after me for child support or her jackass brother would have tried to sell her to me or Dima would have nabbed her and brought her right back to me.

Our son.

I would know if I had a son because I wouldhavea son. He would be right here, in this apartment. Not even this apartment; this is no place to raise a child. We’d be out in the suburbs in a big house with a giant yard and high fences at the far endof a gated community. Or we’d be back in Flagstaff; I don’t think I’d want to raise a kid in SoCal. I’d be overwrought with stress over just how many people are everywhere in every direction you look.

Our son.

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