After dinner, I retreated to my room. As soon as I closed the door, a sigh of relief escaped me, and I sank against the cool wall, briefly covering my eyes. The day's madness swirled through my thoughts, blurring the line between reality and imagination. Could vampires really exist? What nonsense.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a message from Nik pop up on the screen. I didn't want to speak to Karimov until I could at least make sense of my own thoughts. To give myself some space, I switched my phone to airplane mode and set it face down on the table. Gathering my hair into a high ponytail, I sat at the computer, hoping to uncover something—any thread in local folklore that might lend meaning to the Smirnovs' strange performance. But before I could type a single query, a knock echoed at the door.
"Yes?" I called.
The door cracked open. My father stood there, now clad in his duty uniform.
"I'm on a call. I'll be late. Don't go anywhere, okay?" His face was tense, his eyes unusually grave.
I glanced at the clock: eight in the evening. Darkness had long since settled outside, and the city had quieted; shops and offices were shuttered.
"Did something happen?" I asked.
Kostya hesitated, his expression uncertain. "They found a van near the Smirnov estate, in the forest. The cargo door was wide open, and a letter… a confession, taped to the center… Our people think it's him."
"Him?"
"The Kserton maniac."
Images from earlier in the day flickered through my mind. Was it the same truck? Could I see it with my own eyes? The van was proof that none of this was a hallucination—everything was real. But why leave the doors open? Why leave a note?
"And the driver? Did they find him?"
"They did," Kostya cleared his throat. "Dead, in the cab. At first, they thought he'd fallen asleep… they didn't notice the bloodstains on his red shirt. He shot himself in the throat. Can you imagine?"
"They didn't notice the blood on red…" The words repeated in my mind. I tried to recall the kidnapper's clothes. A red checkered shirt. The pieces aligned, detail by detail. My throat went dry. Nausea churned in my stomach. Why had Gleb killed himself… and let me go?
"Everything looks very strange," Kostya continued. "We need to inspect the site carefully and study the note."
"Do you think he couldn't have killed himself?"
Kostya shook his head. "Not his type. But who knows? I'll tell you if I learn more. If it really is him, the city will be safer. We'll see. Okay, I'm off." He pulled the door closed, then paused. "Just… don't tell anyone at school. No need to raise hopes until we know more."
"Okay."
"Good night, Asya," he said, offering a brief, gentle smile.
"Night, Dad."
The kidnapping was real. Just like that first kiss with Nik, or skipping school. Something was missing, a fragment that could change everything. I tried to retrace the day's events, but the more I tried, the more the missing piece eluded me. Slowly, as I reconstructed the events in order, it felt like searching for a needle in a haystack. Then Arthur's figure surfaced in my mind—how he crouched in front of me, palms pressed to his temples. A shiver ran through me. Fear glimmered in his eyes. "It doesn't work?" What didn't work? I pressed my hands to my head, hoping it might help. I closed my eyes, clinging to the memory.
A dark van. I hid behind boxes as the door swung open, light spilling inside. Voices. Two of them—one male, one female. Galina and Gleb. Bright pink, almost raspberry lipstick. Gleb lifted me effortlessly, the jacket tight under my arms. The driver pulled me into the street. I tried to remember what came next, and a stabbing pain erupted in my temples, sharp as needles warring inside my skull. Tears sprang, but I refused to release the memory. My inner voice warned: let go, and the missing fragment would vanish forever.
A hum rose in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. My head threatened to explode. When Gleb pulled me from the truck, I screamed—piercingly, until my throat burned. Galina stood before me, her predator-like gray-blue eyes bright and almost translucent, like the ice of Lake Baikal. She spoke softly, calmly, lulling me as my mother's lullabies once had. Sleep beckoned, warm and irresistible—but suddenly it vanished.
The air thickened into a haze, almost human in shape, swirling deliberately in the stairwell, sometimes approaching, sometimes receding. Colored flecks danced inside it. In an instant, Galina emerged, propelled by some unseen force, and flung me toward the van like a rag doll. Gleb braced himself, legs wide, arms spread, preparing to strike. His mouth opened wide, an animalistic growl rumbling from deep within. That's when I noticed his teeth—two long, sharp fangs, towering over the rest.
"Vampire," I whispered—and the pain ceased, the puzzle finally complete.
Exhausted, I slumped in my chair, staring at nothing. Why had I forgotten the strange haze, the final vision in the forest? Someone had called my name… a familiar voice? Relief had washed over me, fleeting but real. Then the memory ended. I had been swept away by some invisible force, multicolored streaks flashing before my eyes, until I awoke on a soft couch in an old estate. Stanislav was there, a seed of doubt planted in my mind.
That night, sleep eluded me. One overlooked detail could change everything. By morning, I was certain of one thing: I needed to talk to Smirnov.