Until the End

by London Miller

  She had been conflicted at first, feeling guilt over Viktor’s death and what Alex—Mishca’s sister—must have been going through, but that guilt soon turned to resentment and the longer it stewed inside of her, the less she felt bad about it all.

  The only one Volkov that made her feel anything other than burning hatred was Mishca. With him, she felt…anger…betrayal…unequivocal shame…but the final part of her, the part that refused to go away, felt the love that had been building since the moment they had bumped into one another at the café.

  “Miss. Thompson?”

  Lauren was torn out of her thoughts by the two detectives entering the tiny room. She eyed them warily, searching for the signs she knew were coming. She was raised by a homicide detective after all and knew what to look for.

  “Call me Lauren.”

  The shortest of the two, with a receding hairline and beady eyes, smiled gratefully, like he had assumed she wasn’t going to cooperate. He took a seat at the table, his partner standing off by the door with his arms folded across his chest.

  “I’m Detective Stifler,” the short one said. “Detective Baker. We just have a few questions for you.”

  She nodded, matching his relaxed pose because she knew they were only questioning her about Viktor’s murder, which despite all Viktor had done, she wasn’t the one to kill him. “Okay.”

  “Tell me, what was your relationship with Viktor Volkov.”

  Lauren met his eyes, not showing fear. “We didn’t have a relationship. He was my boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—uncle.”

  “Isn’t it true that you came in a few months ago*, claiming that Viktor Volkov was allegedly involved with…” He flipped through the folder on the table, reading from a sheet of paper inside that Lauren was sure he had already memorized. “…The murder of a Doctor Cameron Thompson? That’s your father correct?”

  “Yes, that’s my father, but no I didn’t accuse him of it, Anatoly Stonosky did.”

  With police, especially during interrogations, it was important to be literal, ensuring that words couldn’t be twisted and shaped to fit an alternate meaning.

  “But you gave a statement saying you heard Viktor Volkov’s voice the night of the murder. Is this true?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you learned that he was the one to kill your father?”

  “I guessed.”

  “You guessed?”

  Lauren shrugged. “I was five, locked in a closet for I don’t know how long. My statement isn’t very reliable.”

  That was another reason why she chose not to wait on the justice system to do something about it. There was no physical evidence connecting Viktor to the crime, nor were there any remaining witnesses. So maybe, no matter how she tried to deny it before, had wanted Viktor to die.

  “And did you ever see Viktor after that day.”

  Now they were venturing into dangerous territory. “Yes.”

  “When was that exactly?”

  “End of February, maybe March.”

  “Can you be a little more specific?”

  “Not really,” she said honestly.

  “And where were you on the night of April twenty-fifth?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” asked Detective Baker joining in, sounding terribly disbelieving. Guess he was bad cop. “How can you not know?”

  “Considering it’s May, don’t you think if I had a ready alibi, that might look suspicious?”

  “But you do have an alibi for that night?” He reiterated.

  “Do I need an alibi, detective?”

  He looked annoyed with her word games, but she was begging truthful. She really didn’t know where she had been that night, and it wasn’t going to matter much because Amber had been gone from the apartment for the last two weeks. Which meant, Lauren had no one to corroborate her statement.

  “I didn’t think I needed one,” she went on before he could respond. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. We’re just trying to get some answers.” Detective Stifler tried for a disarming smile, but Lauren read right through that. He leaned close, close enough that only she would be able to hear him.

  “Let me tell you what I know, Lauren. I know you got involved with a known mobster. You might not have known what he was then, but there’s no reason for you to be protecting him now. You find out that his family is behind your father’s death, I can understand why you would be a little angry and might want to take the law into your own hands. A jury will understand that, and if you cooperate with us, I’ll put in a word for you with the DA.”

  Lauren opened, her mouth, ready to tell him that she wanted a lawyer when the door was pushed open, a woman in an expensive beige suit stepping in, her heels clicking on the floor.

  “This interrogation is over,” she said in a no-nonsense voice, carrying herself like she was used to her orders being followed. “Lauren, don’t say another word. Detectives, I have surveillance photos and a formal statement from the cab driver that picked up Lauren on her way home on the night in question.”

  She dropped her packet on the table, turning her nose up at them smugly. Lauren was speechless, much like the detectives, but she had no idea who the attorney was or who had hired her.

  “Let’s go, Lauren.”

  Not questioning it, Lauren made to stand, the detectives following suit though they looked less than pleased. What more could they say? Until they ran whatever the attorney had in that file, they could no longer hold her.

  Ross and Susan were waiting for Lauren near the vending machines, both looking surprised at her rather speedy exit, as well as the lawyer that was guiding her out of the precinct. Ross, a Michigan homicide detective, knew how interrogations worked, had conducted hundreds over his lengthy career. He had specifically warned Lauren not to answer any questions, but eventually relented on the way over.

  He eyed the lawyer suspiciously as he and Susan joined them. Lauren hadn’t thought for a second that either he or Susan had called her—though Susan could afford to—but it seemed too convenient that she came exactly at this time and with Lauren’s alibi.

  How the hell had she gotten it so quickly?

  Lauren felt like every police officer in the precinct was looking in her direction as she walked behind her attorney, like they were all judging her. It was irrational, since not all of them could know why she was brought in, but with a high profile case like this, anything was possible.

  Outside the precinct, the sun was shining, police cars were parked along every inch of the street, and Mishca Volkov was casually standing at the foot of the stairs.

  Lauren stopped where she was, a few feet above him on the top step. It all came flooding back, like it had been yesterday when everything had changed between them instead of almost four months ago.

  Same wavy, disheveled hair, same towering relaxed frame, but there was something different about his eyes. They were still that endless blue, but now they held a haunting knowledge she was all too familiar with.

  He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and Lauren despised herself for caring. Completely ignoring him, she continued down the concrete steps, towards Ross’ old pickup.

  Ross made a rude sound below his breath, hobbling down the steps on his crutches There was no love lost between he and Mishca, and it wasn’t just because Mishca’s uncle decided to send his foot soldiers to attack them in the middle of the night. It was because Mishca was Russian mob.

  On the surface, Mishca was a law abiding, tax paying citizen like the rest of the country, but to a man like Ross, it was what Mishca was on the inside that he disliked.

  Criminal. Mobster. Murderer.

  Lauren hadn’t believed it at first, but it was hard to deny it when she had witnessed it firsthand.

  Ross glared at him as he passed, Susan following soon after, though her expression was far less menacing. She almost looked…sad. Not like the last time the two had crossed paths. Back then, Lauren hadn’t underst
ood her mother’s strange reaction, but now it was more than clear that they had more of a history than she had ever known.

  The lawyer spoke softly in Mishca’s ear and after his nod, she was off, never speaking another word to Lauren. He didn’t come towards her, didn’t crowd her with his presence, just stood there, allowing her to make the decision.

  She didn’t think about the consequences of her actions, just held her head high and approached him. Up close, the effect was worse because now she could smell him. Mishca was just overwhelming in every way possible.

  But that wasn’t what today was about. She couldn’t get sucked back in.

  “Are you having me followed?” Lauren asked. Her first thought was to ask him why he hired the lawyer, but that was plainly obvious considering where she had come from, but what she didn’t know was where the lawyer had come across the information.

  “Not in so many words.”

  Classic Mishca evasion. “I’ll take that as a yes. Did you come here to make sure I wouldn’t talk?”

  He looked frustrated, like she wasn’t saying what he thought she would. What did he expect? It wasn’t like they had walked away on good terms. In fact, it was better if they didn’t talk about it at all.

  “Is that what you think now?” He asked looking down on her. “Is that all you think of me?”

  “It’s who you are,” she said back just as fiercely. “You never showed me the monster that hid beneath the pretty surface.”

  “I showed you what mattered.”

  Like they had done many times before, they unconsciously drew closer until they were just a whisper apart. It was almost too easy to get lost in his eyes, the ways his lips twitched when he was going to smile, or how he always made it a habit to kiss her knuckles when they saw each other.

  Even now, she could feel the ghost of his lips pressing against her skin and had to refrain from reaching for him.

  “I’m leaving, Mish.”

  His eyes softened when she used that nickname for him. She could practically read his thoughts and knew, despite how much it would hurt, she had to let him go.

  “Lauren, about what I said…I didn’t mean—”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair the way he did when he was agitated. “I want to, to fix this.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could ignore the hopeful look on his face when he said that.

  It was hard, staring up at the boy who had been such a big part of her life for months, someone she had grown to love and care for, but there was too much between them and she didn’t think any of it could be fixed.

  “I can’t.”

  Lauren drew away from him, watching the mask fall over his face. This was goodbye.

  Turning her back on him, she walked back to the car where Ross and Susan were waiting. With each step, a foolish part of her hoped that he would call her back.

  July

  Days. Weeks. It all passed in a blur of idle time and enjoying the summer away from New York. Luckily for Lauren, Diego was understanding enough not to fire her since she would be gone for so long, but after the semester she’d had, he thought she deserved a little time off.

  Yea, and he didn’t know the half of it.

  Most days were easier to handle, the ones where she blocked everything out that reminded her of her time with Mishca. It wasn’t easy, not when every little thing brought back a memory of him.

  The sweet scent of coffee, songs playing on the radio, that particular shade of blue that she saw when she looked up at the sky, but whenever her thoughts turned to him, she immediately thought of something else, even if it was one of the most mundane of topics.

  She thought distance might help the ache she felt in her heart, lessen the damage, but the distance only seemed to amplify the problem.

  At her dresser, Lauren touched the intricate jewelry box Susan had given her recently, though she hadn’t known that Lauren would only be using it for one piece of jewelry. It was hand carved from a special African wood, a piece Susan had picked up in town years ago.

  Running her fingers over it, Lauren flipped the latch, tilting open the top to look at the one thing she hadn’t seen since she left New York. It was a charm bracelet made of golden links, and hanging on one of the delicate loops was a tiny egg, designed to look like the Fabergé eggs crafted for royalty in earlier centuries. What she had originally thought were gems were actually diamonds, more than a few dozen encrusted around the charm.

  On a whim, she had searched for it on Tiffany’s, remembering the powder blue packaging it had come in. Knowing Mishca, she had assumed it cost a few hundred dollars—he wasn’t shy about spending money—but after finding it online, she nearly gaped at the price. The bracelet itself was a little over a thousand dollars, but the charm itself cost well over twenty-grand. From that moment, she hadn’t felt right wearing it, not just because of the price, but because she felt like a piece of her would always be connected to him as long as she wore it.

  But, even after she had taken it off, she still felt him in every part of her. That was the hard part. She could separate herself from the physical reflections of their relationship, but there was nothing she could do about the memories.

  Some nights she’d lay awake remembering the way his entire face would light up when he smiled at her, and in the darkness of her bedroom with no one around, she would smile back like he could still see her.

  Honestly, she had no idea what she would do once she went back. She could hope that she wouldn’t run into him in a city that big, but considering she found the needle in the haystack once, she doubted she would be that lucky.

  The better question was, what would they do when she returned?

  She was under no delusion that she was free of the Volkov Bratva, not when they believed she had evidence that could potentially be used against them. It was a bold move pretending her father had kept a record of his work with the Russians, one that had ultimately paid off, but it was one that she constantly fretted about.

  Lauren still remembered Mikhail’s last words.

  A knock at her door drew Lauren from her thoughts, the sight of her mom, Susan, standing in the doorway making her force a smile that she didn’t really feel. She placed the bracelet back in the box, sealing it in.

  Susan had lost a little weight over the months—understandably with all the stress she was under—but it didn’t look bad on her. She had also sheared her hair to her shoulders, stylish layers cut through out. It made her look younger than her forty-two years.

  “Ross coming for dinner tonight?” Lauren asked smiling wider when she saw Susan blush.

  Whether it was his near death experience or that he was just tired of waiting, Ross had finally confessed his feelings to Susan. It took them weeks to finally tell Lauren about their new relationship, but she had merely rolled her eyes at their sudden epiphany, secretly glad that they had each other. She had called it years ago.

  “Yes, he’s grilling steaks.”

  Susan hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding a small sheet of white paper with jagged edges. She looked almost nervous in her approach and that made Lauren wonder what she held.

  The moment they got in the car on their way to Michigan, no one had brought up Mishca’s appearance at the police station or any of his family, but the Volkovs’ brief presence in their life was still like a shadow over them.

  “The last time you were here, I took this out of your father’s journal before you left. You have to understand,” she explained as she handed it over. “I was trying to protect you from the truth and reading this would have led to questions that I couldn’t answer.”

  Lauren took the paper, smoothing it out, smiling genuinely at the familiar untidy scrawl that was her father’s handwriting, but that smile soon began to fade as she read the words.

  November 14th 1997

  Lauren, I pray that you may never find this letter, but if yo
u are reading this, then I have to assume you know the truth. There are so many things I wish I could explain to you, but my time has run out. I regret that I will never get to watch you grow up and accomplish your dreams, teach you to ride that princess bicycle you had always wanted. For that, I am deeply sorry. I cannot make excuses for the choices I have made that led me to this point in my life, and I can only imagine how you feel right now, but please know that I did everything I could to protect you and your mother. I can only hope that you may find peace with everything that you have learned. Until the end of my time in this world and the next, I will watch over you. I love you, Lauren, more than I can ever express in this letter.

  -Dad

  Lauren looked away from the torn paper, the missing entry from her father’s journal. She vaguely remembered it the first day she found the journal when she had skimmed through the pages, but with everything that was happening around her, she had forgotten about it.

  “Why did you show me this?” Lauren asked almost angrily. The blessed numbness she had fallen under over the summer was now slowly dwindling away, the pain returning in agonizing force.

  Susan sat at the edge of her bed, opening her fingers where a familiar gold band on a delicate gold chain sat in the palm of her hand. It had a mate, one that Susan had worn for as long as Lauren could remember, but not lately. With her new relationship with Ross, Lauren didn’t fault her for removing it, but she couldn’t help but wonder why Susan was showing her the ring.

  “I blamed him for so long,” she said wistfully, staring down at the ring, rubbing her finger over the inscription on the inside. “I just knew that whatever those Russians were holding over him was what kept him there for so long.”

  “You don’t believe that now?”

  “I didn’t want to believe it, not after the murder, but I’ve always known that your father cared about him.”

  Lauren didn’t have to ask who she meant.

  “Even when he didn’t mean to, he spoke so highly of Mishca that I was under the delusion that it would not end badly for your father. After…after that night, I blamed them both. Your father because he chose to stay, and Mishca because he was the reason. How could I tell you that I had once hated the boy you had fallen so deeply in love with?” Susan smiled gently, touching Lauren’s knee when she thought to look away. “You couldn’t hide it if you tried.”