by Dark, Masha
“Pavel, that’s not it, and you know it.”
“Then why did it end between us?”
“Are we doing this again?” Marisa felt herself getting angry. “We’ve already gone over this. There’s nothing between us because there never was anything between us. I’ve told you a thousand times that I wasn’t planning on being with you. It was just sex! But now, that’s it. It was – it is not…Pavel, almost a year has passed – we’ve been just friends. And your…”
Marisa stopped short, but after a moment she kept going.
“Your injury has absolutely nothing to do with my decision.”
“So you say,” Volsky muttered, and then he walked away.
Unable to contradict him, Marisa opened the heavy door and walked into the spacious lobby. The receptionist acknowledged her.
I’m a bitch and a careerist, thought Marisa as she passed by reception. Volsky’s handicap had engendered a whole host of insecurities in that once strong and charismatic man. Pavel had let himself go with a vengeance, both mentally and physically. He was jealous of the attention she paid to a boy and so he hated Jan, regarding him as a legitimate rival. Volsky frankly persecuted her, and he had become an obsessive neurotic. Marisa was sure that if Ruslan were still alive, Pavel would have been jealous of him as well.
But Marisa had not lied to Volsky: she didn’t dump Pavel because he had become a cripple. The truth lay in the fact that Marisa saw herself at work, not in a family. Volsky had offered her the position of his girlfriend, and then in time his wife, the mother of his children…. That would mean leaving her job. Saucepans, three course meals, washing machines full of underwear, day time television in the periods between household chores…. There she would stand, an iron in one hand and in the other – a diaper from an unironed pile…. She’d dully eye the television and the next soap opera star suffering from amnesia…
No! That was not at all how it would be. She saw herself doing the exact opposite in the future. No babies, no potty-chairs, and no soap operas! Marisa saw herself in charge of CRUSS. Nothing else interested her.
Marisa felt much worse about the situation with Jan. She was the one who suggested to Goldberg that it would be a good idea to place the boy in the school under the jurisdiction of the Academy, which forged the future workforce of CRUSS. Now Jan was head over heels in love with Marisa and lived only in anticipation of her rare visits. He was doing very well in school. His instructors saw a great future ahead of him. The boy would merit admission into the ranks of CRUSS.
Within a few years CRUSS would gain a new employee. Or rather Marisa would gain one, for by that time she planned on being Goldberg’s right hand. The new agent with superhuman aptitude and phenomenal abilities would be at Marisa’s disposal, and what was more, he would have been reared by her for her use. But most importantly – he would be under her control.
That was why Marisa had taken Jan under her wing. Life – it was a paradox. As the son of a Begotten of Old, the lad now ferociously hated all evil spirits. Together with his mentor – Marisa – he was learning to control his abilities so that he would then use them for the benefit of humans and to the detriment of monsters.
Volsky’s team no longer existed. The best of the best, all of them had laid down their lives during operation ‘Werewolf’. The niche formerly occupied by the most daring and gifted agents of the Coalition was now empty.
Waking from the trance of her thoughts, Marisa found that she had reached the elevator. She looked at her reflection in its mirrored doors. Needless to say, she had changed a lot over the past year. Looking back at Marisa was an adult woman, whose demanding gaze had nothing in common with the enthusiastic gaze of the girl she had been all of a year ago. She wondered when this stranger with the glacial eyes had first appeared. When Ruslan died? Or during the cleansing of the vampire lair? Or when she found her informant with a lacerated throat in a puddle of her own blood? Or perhaps when Marisa had shot that fugitive vampire girl? How old had she really been? A thousand? Or perhaps as young as seventeen? Or did the crisis occur when the monster, Jan’s father, was tearing CRUSS agents into little bits? Marisa recalled how the others had perished – Arvid, Genaro, Okahito – their bodies eaten away to the bones by the poison of the beast that served the monster. The men who were killed that night had families, children, wives…wives who buried their husbands in closed caskets.
Marisa also recalled vividly how she had thrust that poker into the werewolf’s arm, saving the vampire from his deadly grip; she recalled the juicy, smacking sound, and how the monster screamed, how he shrieked with pain when the Black Shadow drew him into her fiery net…and she recalled how that damned vampire saved her from the claws of the werewolf, who was using his dying strength to drag her with him into the abyss.
Life was cruel. A month ago Rimma Goldberg passed away. A stroke. At the funeral Marisa couldn’t even cry. She stood and looked at Papa, who in the course of one night had aged ten years, and she thought for some reason of the stuffed pike that would never again be tasted by a student of the Academy.
Yes, life was damned cruel. Marisa had known this since her childhood and not from hearsay. But life – was a paradox. And the paradox consisted of the fact that any living creature, even if it was an accursed monster out of nightmares, will cling to life and savor each of its moments. ‘Life is life, but life is everywhere’ – Marisa had once heard this from a Tibetan monk. Who could argue with that?
Everyone without exception valued Life. Even those who took it away from others. Why didn’t Marisa shoot her down that night? And why did she save her? Probably because it all happened then, and not now. Or because at that moment it was necessary.
Marisa stepped into the elevator. There was not a single day when she didn’t think about the dark-haired vampire. Whether for good or evil, She had taught Marisa much.
Unfortunately, many of her questions were still unanswered. For example, neither she nor her colleagues had been able to explain how Soigu contrived to get classified information out from under their noses. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t find the leak. It was not out of the question that the mole was still here, in the very heart of CRUSS, which meant that information was still leaking out. Who was involved in this? A corrupt bureaucrat? Or one of her own colleagues? What if many Begotten of Old had their own people inside the Coalition? What if the mole wasn’t even human? What if they brainwashed people, and those people, suspecting nothing, as pliant as marionettes, carried out a will not their own? After the incident with Bumblebee, Marisa had become obsessed with this idea. And if they had ‘their own people’ – both humans and non-humans – everywhere, what then?
The elevator chimed quietly, indicating its arrival on the requested floor. The doors opened smoothly and almost noiselessly. Marisa headed for the lecture hall in which Jan’s lessons were coming to a close. The bell rang and a flood of students rushed towards Marisa. Jan noticed her first.
“We weren’t given any homework!” he announced joyfully. “So I’m free for the rest of the day.”
“That’s great,” said Marisa. “Let’s drive into Stockholm. We’ll get some ice-cream.”
“Cool!” squealed Jan, but he asked instantly: “And is Uncle Pavel coming with us too?”
“No,” said Marisa. “Just the two of us. You and I.”
“A date?” blurted out Jan, immediately blushing.
“Don’t push it. We’ll just sit for a while and catch up.”
“I would consider that a date,” the boy said persistently.
“Whatever you say,” Marisa smirked.
“And can we watch a movie?” the boy continued. “X-Men: The Last Stand? I’ve already seen the trailer online – it’s awesome! The CGI is gorgeous! And do you know what the tagline is?”
“Huh?” asked Marisa.
She had no idea what this mysterious ‘tagline’ was. She was also a little fuzzy on the words ‘trailer’ and ‘CGI’, but she decided to keep that to
herself.
“Take a stand!” When he said the words, his eyes burned with fire.
So it’s an advertizing slogan for the film, realized Marisa and said aloud, “Very well then, we’ll watch your X-Men. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“I’ll be right there,” Jan said happily. “I just have to change. I’ll be quick!”
And he galloped away at full speed. Evidently the boy hadn’t tried to read her thoughts, or else he would have realized that right now Marisa’s mind was miles away from a date, miles away from Stockholm, miles away from Jan, and definitely miles away from the incredible X-Men who really weren’t all that fantastic or unbelievable, all things considered.
Marisa was thinking about Her.
She had been thinking about her constantly for the past ten months.
Dalana. Begotten of Old. Marisa thought she grasped the significance of those words. Dalana was a powerful, ancient creature. She knew and remembered the world from time out of mind. Who could guess what kind of secrets such a creature might preserve in its consciousness?
It was difficult for Marisa to determine what her feelings for this creature were. At times the young woman loathed her. At times she admired her – her power, her strength. Now they were even – She herself had said that the score was settled. That meant their paths must cross again.
…The world is round…
Without question.
Does God have a plan for everyone?
Now that was a controversial question.
Do You have a plan, dear God? A specific plan for Special Agent Marisa Sukhostat of the Coalition?
Marisa knew only one thing for sure: she certainly had her own plan.
THE END
