by Lee Stephen
He saw her the moment he made the turn.
It was Svetlana, with her unmistakable gait. She walked with controlled urgency, one hand at her head and the other swaying with her steps. Why was she in such a hurry? Where was she going? This was not in the direction of Room 14. When she neared, he saw that her upper body was covered in muck.
“Svetlana?”
Before he could say anything further, she about-faced in the hall and walked away from him, swearing in Russian.
Scott hurried to stop her retreat. He caught up with her from behind. “Sveta! What happened?”
When she turned her head to respond, he saw the dripping cereal that covered her. Her voice was venomous. “I cannot deal with you right now. Please leave me alone.”
He kept his pursuit. “Sveta, stop.”
To his surprise, she complied, whirling around to point at her face. “Do you see this? Do you see?” She shoved him in the chest—unexpectedly hard. His back slammed against the wall. “Is this what I have come back for? To be mocked? To have food in my face? To be humiliated in front of the world?”
He was thoroughly baffled. What on earth was going on? “Svetlana, calm down. Just tell me what—”
“Calm down?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Calm down?”
“Sveta—”
“This has been disaster since first hour! I cannot be a friend, I cannot fight, I cannot do anything right! I came here to be a help for you, and this is what I must endure? Do you even appreciate that I came?”
“Just tell me what happened!”
“It was Esther! ‘Polyester,’ whatever her name is!”
Scott shook his head. This didn’t make sense. “Esther hit you in the face with porridge? What’d you do to her first?”
“I hit her with cabbage, what do you think?” she answered sarcastically. “I did to her nothing!”
An operative stepped past them in the hall, staring at them curiously before he moved on.
Svetlana’s face flushed with deep red. “I’m going. I must clean this off.”
Never mind the countless other questions swirling through Scott’s mind. Where exactly was she going to clean it off? Room 14 was the other way. “Where are you going?”
“To shower off in the locker room by the pool,” she answered, shoving past him. “I cannot go to Room 14. Esther will be there.”
Scott pursued her, deviating from Confinement’s direction.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded. “To watch me take a shower? Sorry to disappoint, but I am only washing my head.”
“Svetlana, please…”
She stopped, turning around to face him fully. “What is it? What do you want?”
“What do you think?” he asked rhetorically. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I want to find out what’s going on. Do you seriously think I’m just going to walk away now?”
“Why wouldn’t you? It is what you do best.” The moment she said it, she seemed to catch herself. She winced and turned away. “I did not mean it like that.”
Of course she meant it like that—and she was right. Not even he would deny it.
She closed her eyes and ran a hand over her head, slicking back her porridge-caked hair. She faced him again. “I am sorry, Scott, but why do you want to come? Please tell me the truth. Is it obligation? Do you want to follow me for your own curiosity?”
“I don’t want you to feel alone.”
She sighed, placing her hands on her hips.
“I’m trying, Sveta.”
It took several seconds, but finally she nodded. It seemed more out of defeat than anything else. “Then come if you must. But please let me hurry.” After an agreeable exchange, she turned and resumed her trek to the pool. Scott followed behind.
They walked into the pool room together, making their way to the woman’s locker room door before stopping. Svetlana lowered her head. “Really, Scott, you do not need to—”
“Svetlana,” he tactfully interrupted. “I care about you. I know you think I don’t, but I do. Take your time, I’ll wait outside till you’re finished.”
She finally acquiesced, nodding but still refusing to face him. Placing his manila folder on the floor, Scott reached out to touch her shoulder and guide her around. “Hey…” Once she faced him, he placed his hands at her sides.
She needed a reason to put things in perspective, to laugh. To realize that in the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t such a big deal—regardless of what had spawned it. Reaching out, he brushed one of her plastered bangs to the side. “It’s not that bad a look.”
She managed to laugh through her embarrassment.
“It’s got that ‘you wear what you eat’ thing going for it.”
“Are you finished?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Wash up. I’ll be outside.”
After he left, she walked through the locker room door.
Scott slid to the floor against the outside wall. His legs were bent in front of him, hands draped over his knees. For a fleeting moment it felt like college again.
I used to sit like this all the time in the athletes’ dorm. Talking with the guys on the team, right there in the hall. Until three in the morning.
Life was so different now. Responsibilities were so different. Consequences, too. He lowered his head and exhaled a hard breath.
It had been a long time since he’d felt obliged to be a leader off the field—to sort out what was wrong. It had started with his regret toward Max, and now Svetlana was bringing it home. He’d missed opportunities to play peacekeeper before—when David had gone into social isolation, when the tension between the unit and Dostoevsky was tangible, when the chasm between EDEN and Nightmen grew wider. He’d never given any of those situations a moment of concern, even though they were mostly his fault.
He sighed. Mostly his fault. It was a fact he often ignored. This was where it was getting him.
Svetlana’s head was lowered beneath the shower’s steady spray. She’d already cleaned off her face. Now she was working the mess from her hair. The wet strands dangled as clumps of porridge swirled down the floor drain.
Lifting her head, she pushed back her hair as water droplets trickled down past her ears. Across the room, she could see her reflection in one of the wall-mounted mirrors. She stared at herself as words seemed to echo through the room.
“Nothing good came out of Siberia, Scott! Siberia is why you’re a Nightman.”
The words weren’t heard literally in the locker room. They were the words spoken by David in Chernobyl, before Scott and the Nightmen made their charge. They echoed in her mind; they were etched on her face.
Reaching out, she turned off the shower. She walked across the room toward the mirror, until she was staring at her reflection face-to-face.
“Siberia is why you’re a Nightman.”
She closed her eyes. Her throat constricted as she sucked in a breath. Propping her forehead against the mirror, she covered her face with her hand as tears began to fall. Gripping the sides of the sink, she cried violently.
It had nothing to do with Esther or porridge, nor her own choice to return to the Fourteenth. It was a verdict—a sentence. It was the connection she hadn’t yet made. Until now.
Siberia was why Scott was a Nightman. He was a Nightman because he’d leapt after her.
Scott rubbed the back of his neck. The consequences of Clarke’s death were hitting him now in more ways than one, even beyond how he’d behaved in Chernobyl. Now he realized something more ominous—something he couldn’t ignore. The unit was theirs. It was his and Dostoevsky’s.
In the past, Clarke could always water down the will of The Machine. There was no doubt that Thoor owned Novosibirsk and every unit in it, regardless of whether Nightmen were present. But even in a unit with Nightmen, like the Fourteenth, Clarke had always been a buffer between the operatives and Thoor’s will. Now that buffer was gone.
There’s no doubt I’ll be the commander—Thoor would never
promote Max over me. If I don’t draw some kind of line, the Fourteenth will be completely consumed.
Dostoevsky, himself, Viktor, Nicolai, Auric, and Egor. They made up almost half the team. And with one officer slot now open in the wake of Clarke’s death, there was no doubt that a slayer would advance. Three of four officers would be Nightmen.
What could Max possibly do?
Svetlana rubbed the towel through her hair until it was dry. Her golden bangs fell over her face.
Though she’d stopped crying, her expression was still heavy with emotion. Dark stains dotted her sweat suit where the porridge had splattered, but at least she was clean.
Draping the towel over her shoulder, she walked out of the locker room and turned for the pool room door—until something stopped her in her tracks. Sitting abandoned on the floor by the locker room entrance was a plain manila folder—the same one she’d seen Scott carrying in the halls.
For a moment, she hesitated, torn between curiosity and propriety. Curiosity won. Bending down, she took the manila folder in hand.
Scott repositioned himself against the wall as he waited. What was she doing in there? What was taking so long? More importantly, what were they about to discuss? He knew it was coming. It had begun welling up inside him the moment he’d seen her in the halls. Something was coming.
He knew that whatever had happened between Svetlana and Esther was a minor effect of a much larger problem. Svetlana was in the midst of a unit torn on almost every front. The only reason she’d returned was for him—the Golden Lion who became a part of The Machine. She’d come there to answer a call for help that he’d never made. She was doing it for him.
And this is how I’ve answered.
As Svetlana stepped out of the pool room, Scott rose to his feet. He saw it the moment he looked at her—his manila folder. It was firm in her grasp. He’d forgotten it.
Here it comes.
“Scott, I need to talk to you about some things.”
There was no getting away from it now. Everything was about to come out. “You want to go to my room?”
She nodded her head, and they set off down the halls.
Flashes of memories flickered in his brain as he walked. Jumping for Svetlana in Siberia. Losing Nicole. Striking Esther in the face in Khatanga. The entire downward spiral. It made him sick.
Stop thinking of the past and focus on Sveta. She needs you more than you need yourself. Drawing a preparatory breath, he opened the room to his private quarters and led her inside, closing and locking the door behind him.
Svetlana sat on the edge of his bed, her blue eyes on him as he pulled out a chair and sat down. She didn’t start with a greeting to ease the tension. She hit him square in his heart. “Many months ago, I made a promise to a man.”
He closed his eyes.
“I made a promise that, if this man would be there for me, I would be there for him in return.”
He knew what she was talking about; she didn’t need to refresh his memory. She was talking about their first night in the lounge, long before she’d left or he’d joined The Machine. And she was wondering what happened to that man she’d made the promise to.
“I am in debt to you in so many ways. I should be dead. I should have died in Siberia, but you saved my life.” She broke eye contact. “If I live a perfect life, but die without telling you this, then I will have failed.” Her lips trembled. “Scott, I am so sorry.”
She was sorry? Sorry for what?
“I am so sorry for running after him.” She dabbed her eyes. “Had I stayed back, had I just done what Yuri had told me…”
The hair stood on Scott’s arms.
“It is my fault that your fiancee is dead.” As the words came out, so did her tears. “Had I not run, had I just helped them escape as he told me, you would not have jumped out to save me. Is that not what made the Nightmen notice you?”
In all his time spent thinking and putting pieces together regarding his fall from grace, he’d never made that connection. Thoor had noticed him because he’d leapt from the Pariah to save Svetlana, who was running after her boyfriend. That had set off the whole thing. And now she was blaming herself for being indirectly responsible.
“Svetlana, that isn’t your fault.”
“It is my fault, Scott! There are so many things that are my fault and every time, it is you that has come…”
What was she talking about? Come to what? She said something quietly in Russian that was too low to be understood. It sounded like a prayer.
“Sveta?”
Her breaths became shorter. “I am going to tell you something that I have told no one. I have not even told my own mother. It will not make sense at first, but please be patient for me to get through.”
Something was going on that went beyond him as a Nightman. It went beyond everything in the Fourteenth.
“Tolya was my first and only boyfriend. I was stupid…I was so stupid,” she cursed herself quietly in Russian. “I was with him for a month before you came, that was it.”
For a moment, he forgot the fact that he had no idea why she was telling him this. She had been with Tolya only for a month? He was her first boyfriend? Both those things surprised him.
“I made a mistake with him. I made a mistake, and I lost something I can never get back.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “I was really a blonde…”
Of course, he knew what she was referring to. He felt something in his heart deflate a little.
She cleared her throat. “I told him, I never will do this again. I told him never to ask me, never to try and convince me, never to do anything. I told him I was not that kind of woman, and he said okay. He said he was sorry. He was ashamed.”
Her palms were glistening; Scott could see them from where he was sitting.
“Late one night, when no one else was awake…I went to the lounge.”
He already knew what she was going to say.
“I went there to feel sorry about myself. I was such fool. And I thought about Tolya, and why I loved him. I wondered if I had chosen the wrong man.” She swallowed and looked up at him. “Then you walked through the door.”
Scott felt lightheaded. His heart hit his throat.
“You know what happened in the lounge,” she said quietly. “But you don’t know what happened after you left.”
She’d brought him comfort that night. She’d helped him remember his faith.
“That night, after you left the room, I was in wonder. I am not embarrassed to say it. I was attracted to you.”
For the first time, he noticed her scent.
“And I thought, look at this man who just left. What an amazing man, his heart is so pure. And it came to me, what if I had waited? What if I had not been so desperate? What if I had waited for someone like you, instead of being with someone like Tolya?” She paused to inhale. “For the smallest of moments, I wished Tolya was out of my life. The very next day, he was dead.”
For a moment she lost her restraint and a single, anguished cry slipped out. But she put her hand on her chest to catch herself, holding up the other in a silent request for patience. She composed herself again and continued. “I cannot tell you the guilt that I felt. I felt like I had killed Tolya myself. I went home with that guilt, feeling as if I had killed a man with my thoughts.”
Now he understood. That was why she’d reacted the way she had after Anatoly Novikov died. That was why she’d become so distant. It wasn’t just remorse, it was feeling responsible.
Svetlana steadied her breathing. “I thought about you every day. I thought about how you saved me in Siberia, but even more than that, I thought about how faithful you were. Even though you were doubting your purpose, you were there for reasons greater than yourself. You were there to follow God.
“Scott, that is what you did to truly save me. You showed me what it was like to be an honorable person. It is because of that—because of knowing you—that I made the decision to forgive myself. I thought, may
be if I stop feeling self-pity, I can do something good with my life. Maybe I can find favor with God.” She curled her body inward. “You are the reason I opened my Scripture again, for the first time since I was a little girl.
“When I got the letter from Varya, it was like…I cannot even describe it. I had to come back for you. I had to do everything I could to save you. It was not even a difficult decision.” She laughed lightly. “It did not take me three months to decide. It took me three months to get back into shape.” She sighed. “That did not work so good.”
As she paused, Scott collected his own thoughts. The situation was so much clearer now. She’d come back because he’d been righteous. She wanted to be there for him, just as he’d been there for her, not only in Siberia, but in her heart back at home. It made him feel numb.
“I have made so many mistakes,” she said. “I have done so many stupid things. But coming back for you is the best decision I have ever made.” She blushed. “I think even worth getting porridge in my face.”
Scott couldn’t repress a small grin, even if only to share in her humor. Her confrontation with Esther seemed so trivial now. She’d gone through much harder things.
She leaned closer to him. “You are a good man, Scott James Remington. I see it in you. I can see it in your eyes, even if only for moments in the midst of your anger. Just like I see it now.”
That, he wasn’t sure he could believe.
“You are a man of God. You have a chance here. If God only used perfect people, He would have no one to use. He can use our mistakes.”
She made it sound so simple. She just didn’t understand.
“I know the guilt that you feel. I know you choose to live with it every day.” She hesitated, then frowned. “I know what you keep in your folder.”
Scott looked at his desk. The manila folder was right where she’d placed it. She knew its contents. It held a life—the one he’d taken.
