Page 16 of Blood & Snow
They will mourn him the way I mournMamochka, the way I ache for her arms to come around me and tell me it's okay.
And they will have no justice because I erased his murder from existence.
My reflection stares back at me from the train window, and I see a stranger.
Someone capable of kneeling in a pool of blood and scrubbing it clean while an armed man watches.
Someone who can lie to her sister's face about where the money came from and how she earned it.
The transformation happened so quickly, I barely recognized it occurring.
When I emerge from Sokolniki station, snow has begun falling, light flakes that melt on contact with the pavement, turning the sidewalks slick and dark with moisture.
I walkcarefully toward my sister's apartment building, rehearsing the story I'll tell about the interview and the position I've supposedly accepted.
Hotel cleaning work.
Overnight shifts that pay well because most people don't want to work those hours.
Nothing dangerous or complicated, just scrubbing floors and cleaning halls and hotel amenities while guests sleep.
A reasonable explanation for why I'll be gone several nights each week and why I'll return home with cash payments.
She's never going to believe me, but the truth would destroy her and terrify her.
We'd both be forced to leave Moscow permanently, and how would we survive then?
The elevator in Irina's building actually functions, unlike the one in the apartment tonight.
The images of which I can't shake from my head.
I'm going to have nightmares.
I use my key to enter the apartment quietly, hoping Irina has gone to bed and I can postpone this conversation until morning.
But light spills from the kitchen, and I hear the familiar sound of her evening tea ritual.
She always makes chamomile before sleeping, a habit inherited from our mother.
"Nadya?" she calls when she hears the door close.
"How did the interview go?"
I pause feeling frozen.
There's no escape.
I hang my coat in the closet and walk toward the kitchen, my mind still scrambling for details that'll make my story convincing.
Irina sits at the small table with a steaming mug, still wearing her nursing scrubs from today's shift at the hospital.
"It went well," I tell her, settling into the chair across from her.
"I got the position."
Relief floods her face immediately.
"That's so good. Tell me about the work."
