Dark Sky Falling

by Richard Ryker

  Where was Anna?

  Several minutes passed. The room was steady again. He risked sitting up. A little dizzy, but better. At the sink he poured water over his hair and face, cupped his hands and drank. He looked into the mirror at a face he knew must be his own, only because he was the one standing there. But it wasn’t him. He looked older. Sicker. He hadn’t shaved for days. Where had the gray come from in his hair? His eyes were swollen, wrinkles deeper than before.

  “Anna?”

  No one answered. He felt foolish for calling her name. It felt wrong. A name he knew, but didn’t know, a word from a language he no longer spoke. Why was he calling for Anna? That question again, that missing link—what was he forgetting? If he could just remember, he’d feel better again.

  He needed to breathe. Fresh air. He shuffled to the door. He pulled it open and stared out at the half empty parking lot. He closed his mouth and took in the cool air and it bit at the inside of his nose.

  He stepped further out. He was in a valley, between two smooth, green hills, arms encircling the little town. The clouds were low, masking the mountains beyond.

  “Marcus, is that you?” To his left, a man approached cautiously. He stopped several feet away.

  “Marcus, I know what you are thinking,” the man said. “But there wasn’t anything else I could do. I mean, it was my big break. My chance. You do understand?”

  Marcus stared at the man’s feet. What was he talking about?

  “I did wait until I was sure you didn’t need me anymore.” He was becoming more hesitant.

  Marcus met the man’s eyes. He felt, rather than understood that he knew the man. Anger. An urge to hurt him. His face must have told the man so.

  The man put his hands up. “I will make it up to you.” He looked into the room behind Marcus. “Where is Stormy?”

  Stormy. Another feeling. Affection. Longing.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you even know who I am?”

  Marcus shook his head.

  “It is me. Dmitry. The one who helped you find where Alyssa was. Where Kamila took her. I got you to Kamila’s aunt’s home in Grozny.”

  Marcus’s head spun. He reached out, held on to one of the wooden posts holding up the walkway outside his room.

  “Marcus, where is Stormy?”

  “You…you did something. You lied to me. I don’t know what.”

  “Yes. I said I’m sorry. But you need help, my friend.”

  He put an arm around Marcus. “Let me get you back inside. You can explain what’s been going on.”

  Marcus looked sideways at the man. Dmitry was his name. Marcus was still angry with him, for some reason. But he seemed okay.

  “I’m waiting for Anna,” Marcus said.

  “Anna?”

  “My wife.”

  Dmitry chuckled. “I don’t think Stormy would like that.” His smile fell. “You’re not serious are you? I mean, isn’t she—”

  “Honey, what are you doing out here?”

  There she was.

  The woman. It wasn’t right to think of her as the woman. Who would call his wife that? She put her arm in his, pulling him away from Dmitry.

  He looked between the two of them. She glared at Dmitry. Meanwhile, Dmitry looked down at her, eyes wide. Surprise. He managed a smile. “Hello, madam. I was just out for a walk and ran into this nice man here.”

  Marcus closed his eyes. Two realities, both vague, murky images faced each other in his mind. They couldn’t both be true, but somehow they were both there.

  One was of Anna, next to him, their daughter safe at home. The other had something to do with this man, Dmitry. And Stormy, a woman he loved. A woman that wasn’t Anna. In a world where Anna didn’t exist. A world where Alyssa wasn’t safe.

  This had something to do with the question, the unfinished thought. If only he could remember. He shook his head, opened his eyes. His chest tightened.

  “He is my husband. I’ll take it from here.”

  Dmitry reached out a hand. “Nice to meet you. I am Viktor. And you are?”

  There was a pause. Why was she pausing? “Anna.” She pulled Marcus toward the door. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Wait,” Marcus said. The man had called himself Dmitry. Why the name change? Something stopped him from asking the question, wariness or fatigue, he wasn’t sure. “Never mind.”

  Dmitry tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you Marcus and…Anna.”

  Chapter 64

  Amelia led them to a small room with two bunk beds. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a small dresser with a lamp on top. They had recently adopted out three siblings and were readying for more children in the next week. Alyssa and Stormy could use the room for now.

  Amelia showed Stormy the shower and allowed her to pick a clean outfit from her own closet. Stormy wore one of Amelia’s dresses, one with a blue and white forget-me-not floral print pattern—not quite her style—but it would do. Thankfully, they were the same size around the waist.

  By late afternoon, Stormy and Alyssa were finally alone. Stormy had imagined this moment, a girl’s day together without Marcus, as happening in some place very different from an orphanage in Dagestan. They would go shopping at the mall, try on outfits, go to a movie. God willing, that would happen, and someday they would look back at this moment as the start of a lifelong friendship. For now though, Stormy had no idea what to say or do with this little girl who had already lost her mother, and now possibly her father.

  “What do you want to play?” Stormy asked. The deck of cards that Amelia had given her sat between them on the bunk bed.

  “Rummy,” Alyssa said, taking the cards and shuffling them herself. “Seven card.”

  Stormy smiled. She liked Alyssa. She was a take-charge kind of girl.

  “How long have you known my dad?” Alyssa asked.

  “A long time. We were kind of friends at work.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me if he talks about any other women?”

  “Um, no. That wouldn’t be my business,” Stormy said.

  “True.”

  “I mean, he hasn’t really done much dating anyways, right?” Stormy said.

  She waited for Alyssa to confirm or deny her statement. Instead, she dealt another round and beat Stormy, again.

  “I think that means you win.”

  “Let’s play again,” Alyssa said. “You deal.”

  Stormy dealt out seven cards to Alyssa, then herself.

  “He doesn’t date, you’re right,” Alyssa said. “He must really like you.”

  Stormy tried to suppress a smile. “Thanks.”

  Alyssa looked up from the cards in her hand, meeting Stormy’s eye. “So I hope you aren’t crazy or anything like that.”

  “Me? Uh, no. Not last time I checked.” Stormy chuckled, wondering at how this little girl had somehow made her nervous. Something even seasoned trial lawyers had failed to do over the years.

  Stormy decided it was time for a different topic than Stormy and Alyssa’s dad.

  “What’s the one thing you miss about home?” she asked, before realizing the absurdity of the question. “I mean, besides your dad.”

  “Being able to take a shower when I want. And normal food.”

  “I agree on both counts.” They both laughed. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

  “Homemade macaroni and cheese,” Alyssa answered. “Mmm.”

  “Yeah? Well maybe I can make you some when we get back.”

  “Mom used to make it,” Alyssa said.

  “My mom was a pretty good cook too,” Stormy replied. “She made the best chocolate cookies you would ever taste.”

  “Is your mom still alive?”

  “No,” Stormy said, wondering how much to share. She didn’t want to remind Alyssa of her own mother’s passing. “She died when I was a little girl.”
>
  “How old?”

  “I was eight.”

  “Really?” She perked up. “That’s sort of like me.”

  “I know,” Stormy said. She smiled, then said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “You turned out ok.”

  Stormy laughed.

  “So you’re going to come over sometimes for dinner if we make it home?”

  “As often as you want,” Stormy said.

  They played until dinnertime. Afterward they returned to their room and talked about what Alyssa had been through with Kamila, about her mom, about what she liked and didn’t like, and how she didn’t have many friends at school. Stormy shared that she hadn’t had many friends either when she was Alyssa’s age. And Alyssa had several questions for Stormy—so many that it seemed, for a moment, as though she were interviewing for a job.

  Droopy eyed, Alyssa leaned against Stormy, yawning.

  “I think it’s time for bed,” Stormy said.

  “Sleep next to me,” Alyssa said.

  They bundled up under two blankets.

  Stormy had no idea where Marcus was, and now she faced the possibility of taking Alyssa back home, alone. What if Marcus didn’t survive? Stormy recoiled at the thought of sending Alyssa off to her relatives where Stormy would never see her again. After all she had been through with Marcus to save Alyssa, and now finally getting to know the wonderful girl that she was. She could not imagine a future without her.

  “Stormy?” Alyssa called to her from the dark.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re really nice...like my mom.”

  Alyssa squeezed in tight next to her on the little bunk bed. Stormy put her arm around her, pulling her closer. She was going to make sure Alyssa was safe if her life depended on it.

  Chapter 65

  Marcus let her pull him into the room. She guided him to the bed. She had brought food, and more hot tea.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said.

  She frowned at him. “Is your stomach upset?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Who was that man?” she asked, sitting down on the bed next to him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “How would I know?”

  “He kept talking about…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did he tell you?” Her voice was anxious now. Or was that anger? “Marcus, are you hiding something from me?”

  “What would I have to hide?” Something about her frustrated him. It seemed to Marcus that she was the one holding back. She wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

  “Why are we really here?” he asked.

  “I told you. We’re on vacation.”

  “We really picked this motel? In the middle of nowhere.”

  “It was your idea, silly.”

  He paused, holding those two realities in his mind. Either this was Anna, or it wasn’t.

  “And Alyssa. She’s safe?”

  “As safe as ever. Why don’t you try to eat something?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then try some tea. It will calm your stomach.” She pushed the cup into his hand.

  He looked down at the cup. It couldn’t taste any worse than the water here. He was thirsty. Marcus opened the lid and took and filled his mouth with the liquid, swallowing hard.

  “Damn!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “That’s hot.”

  “Sorry.” She put her hand on his leg. “I should have said something. It’s my fault.”

  At least she was sorry. Too sorry. Normally, Anna would have chided him for not paying attention. Anna was no sycophant.

  “I’ll drink it later.”

  “Let it cool off. But not too long,” she said. “I’ll remind you.”

  Marcus finished half his tea, at Anna’s prompting. They slept on the bed until it was dark out. While she was asleep, Marcus made his way to the bathroom, fell to his knees and vomited until he was empty.

  He was on the floor for some time, leaning his head against the cool tank behind the toilet. When he stood again, he felt better, revitalized. Somehow being empty seemed to give him strength. He rinsed his mouth out in the sink, then took a shower.

  When he got out, he wondered where his other clothes were. He didn’t have a suitcase, and that made total sense for some reason. A towel wrapped around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

  He scanned the room. Nothing. Not even a travel bag.

  “Hey there,” she called out from the bed. In the dark, he could just make out her form. She rose, pushed her hair back.

  A weak light from the bathroom shone over half her face. “You feeling better?”

  “Looking for clean clothes.”

  She stepped forward, her arms around him now. He could feel the wet from his chest seep into her shirt. She looked up at him. “Come here.”

  He stood there.

  “Don’t be shy.” She ran her hand across his cheek and kissed him. They stood there for a while, him letting her lead. She put her hands in his, and the towel dropped as she pulled him toward the bed. Her head fell back to the pillow.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Marcus pushed himself up. “Someone’s here.”

  “Shh,” she said, putting her finger over his lips. “It’s nobody.”

  Another knock.

  “I need to see who it is.”

  “No you don’t,” she said. “We have better things to do.” She pulled him closer, kissed him again.

  Now a pounding. “Hello? Marcus? Are you in there?”

  It was Dmitry.

  Marcus rose from the bed and picked up the towel, embarrassed that she—his wife—was staring at his uncovered form. Why did this seem so awkward, so wrong? He looked at her face again. Not Anna. Not really Anna.

  “Marcus, I know you’re in there, with that woman.”

  “Go away!” she shouted, the anger in her tone weakened by fear.

  “Just...wait,” Marcus said.

  A moment later he was dressed, opening the door. Dmitry stood there, a brown paper bag in one hand, plastic cups in another.

  “There you are,” Dmitry said, stepping inside the door. Marcus stood back, letting him in. “I do want to apologize for leaving so abruptly earlier.”

  She stood across from him. “You left because I told you we have everything handled. We don’t need—”

  “Do you mind?” Dmitry said, reaching for the light switch. The room lit up, causing Marcus to squint. “That’s better.”

  “We do mind,” she said.

  “And I was thinking, too, how could I pass up an opportunity to share a drink with my old friend.” Dmitry held up the brown bag and plastic cups. He sauntered over to the table, pushed aside the boxes of half eaten food.

  “I could use a drink,” Marcus said.

  She sighed. “That’s not good for you. You need to sleep.”

  Marcus waived her off. “I’m fine.”

  “Very good,” Dmitry said. He poured two cups, then motioned toward her. She shook her head no.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Marcus took a sip, swished the liquor around his mouth, then swallowed.

  As soon as his cup touched the table, Dmitry filled it again.

  “So, my lady. What was your name again?” Dmitry asked.

  “Anna. My name is Anna.” She sat down on the bed, staring at the both of them. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Dmitry. Reporter extraordinaire.”

  “A Russian reporter,” she said. “How nice.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “You might have heard of me.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I recently wrote a front page story.”

  Her arm twitched slightly and she took a step back.

  “Good for you,” she said. Her eyes s
ettled on Marcus. “I think your friend should leave now. You aren’t looking well.”

  “I feel great,” Marcus said. He meant it. Alcohol wasn’t supposed to clear your mind, was it? Maybe it was something else. Something about this Dmitry fellow.

  “What was your story about?” Marcus asked. Even as he spoke the words, that sense of irritation, of frustration and anger pricked him as he looked into Dmitry’s eyes.

  “Funny you should ask—”

  “You look hungry,” Kamila said. “I think it’s time for you to eat. And have more tea too.”

  “Tea and whiskey?” Dmitry asked. “That’s an interesting idea—”

  “Would you like some too?”

  Dmitry displayed a wry smile, as if considering her offer. “Maybe later.”

  “Marcus needs his tea now.”

  Why was she always talking about tea?

  “I don’t need anything. It’s not like it’s medicine.” He looked at Dmitry. “I’ve been feeling ill. Confused, really. Like right now. I know that I know you. I even know that for some reason I don’t like you.”

  He felt a sense of relief at saying the words out loud, admitting he didn’t have a clue what was going on. The question, the missing information he needed wasn’t too far away now. He was getting closer to the truth.

  “I can explain,” Dmitry said, looking askance at the woman. “It has something to do with the article I wrote.”

  “Marcus!” she shouted. “Why aren’t you listening to me?”

  “Why do I get the feeling both of you know more about what’s going on than I do?”

  “Because we do,” Dmitry said.

  “Nonsense. I am your wife. I am Anna. You love me.”

  Marcus stared back at her. The longer he considered her, the more he felt how wrong this was. The feeling spread throughout his body, an electric signal warning him.

  “You’re not telling the truth,” he said.

  “I am Anna.”

  “I don’t know what you’re lying about. But it’s something.”

  She stood. “You know what, if you don’t trust your own wife, screw you. You would rather believe this Russian liar than me.”