Titov spoke of his crew warmly, protectively. It was the first affectionate words Eugene had heard a human being speak of people not bound to them by blood.
Sasha Titov was not related to any of his fellow fishermen, yet he felt a kinship with them that surpassed that of familial constraints. He embraced outsiders. Such a notion intrigued Eugene.
“I hope I can be helpful. I am not a fisherman, though. I’ll likely be most helpful to you and your men by just staying out of the way.”
“Nonsense! A strapping man like you will be very useful.” Sasha Titov said walking toward the boarding ladder of the ship. “Let’s get off this dock and onto the ship.”
“Sounds good,” Eugene said as proceeded up the ladder of the small trawler.
The modest craft was painted a simple white with the name Titov painted in black at the bow. Large fishing nets, used to ensnare the intended catch, occupied either side of the boat. The ship was meticulously maintained but old.
Eugene assumed that the portly fisherman could likely afford a better vessel. Yet much to his puzzlement, Titov opted to retain his humble ship. Such humility was not in keeping with Eugene’s perception of the human species. He was baffled, but not displeased.
“Let me release the bow line from the berth,” Titov declared as he released the stern line and bow line from the quay.
The vessel was adrift.
“I will give you a tour of the ship and make introductions as we cruise. Okay?”
“You’re the captain,” Eugene conceded.
Titov embarked. Standing on deck, Sasha Titov took a deep breath. “Ahh! There is nothing like filling your lungs with good sea air, huh?”
“No, there’s nothing like it,” Eugene agreed and mimicked Sasha’s action of profound inhalation and exhalation though he loathed the smell of decaying marine life and presumed only a human could enjoy such a foul stench.
The vessel groaned and complained as it drifted beyond its slip farther out into the bay. Both men stared reverently into the blackened abyss.
Titov broke their pensive silence by offering, “Come. Let me show you the state-of-the-art bridge.”
Eugene allowed himself to be ushered by Sasha Titov to the ultramodern compartment that functioned as the control room of the ship. Various sophisticated nautical electronic devices occupied the console.
“Wow,” Eugene marveled as he picked up a small rectangular object. “What is all this stuff?”
Proudly, Titov began describing its purpose.
“This is a Garmin GPSMAP 5215 Chart Plotter,” he began. “It features a highly detailed Blue Chart g2 marine preloaded cartography to the Alaskan shoreline. It also has a worldwide base map with high-quality satellite images instead of more traditional maps.”
Next, Eugene retrieved a bulky object resembling a 1980s car phone. “This looks like the original model for the cell phone,” he joked.
Sasha Titov laughed a jovial, full-bodied expression. “No, no, not an early cell-phone design. This is actually an Inmarsat Isat Phone Pro, a global handheld satellite phone capable of voicemail, e-mail and text messaging and GPS location data.”
“Wow, but it’s so small,” Eugene wondered aloud. “Amazing!”
Eugene found Titov’s congeniality infectious. He began unconsciously mirroring the pleasant fisherman’s enthusiasm, smiling even, though cautious to conceal his sharp teeth. Titov did not recoil in horror as all others did. Instead, Eugene watched as the rounded, russet-haired man, unbothered, moved effortlessly and excitedly about his workspace. He wondered how, despite his cumbersome build, Titov was so light-footed, unburdened by his generous insulation.
With lithesome steps, Sasha Titov darted to a metal desk in the far corner of the bridge and selected a piece of apparatus similar to a high-tech flashlight. He held it out, his face the embodiment of pride.
“This, Eugene, is my newest acquisition,” Titov beamed. “It is a high-performance handheld waterproof thermal imager that provides superior night vision.”
With a grin that broadened, dangerously skirting the border between acceptable and frightening, Eugene gaped at Titov’s trinkets then spoke. “Such sophisticated technology. I was unaware that all of this equipment even existed,” he offered.
Smiling broadly, Titov said, “We have some of the finest maritime technology available.”
Interested in maintaining their conversation, Eugene continued, “Being a career fisherman must warrant such technology. You are out at sea three out of four seasons, right?”
Sasha Titov deftly navigated the tight confines of the cramped quarters, replacing his beloved equipment to its rightful place. As he returned, his demeanor had transformed slightly.
“Sometimes we are gone for months at a time. It is not an easy life,” Titov offered solemnly as his expression became melancholy. “I’ve missed much.”
“Do you have a family?” Eugene asked spontaneously.
“I’ve been happily married for twenty-two years. We have four boys, all strapping young men,” he beamed, pride swelling in his every feature. “But I have missed many birthdays, many holidays. My absence is necessary to put food on the table, so they forgive me.”
He considered the idea of kinfolk, of the profound interdependence that exists among its members. Eugene also reflected on Sasha Titov’s profession, how it affected his domestic arrangement before adding thoughtfully, “You’re lucky to have such wonderful people to go home to.”
After a pause, Sash Titov continued in earnest. “After this trip I will return home to my wife and children, settle in to my life as we brace ourselves for the long winter when it becomes too cold and I cannot fish, when money will become scarce.”
Eugene’s expression was solemn. He believed Sasha Titov to be not only a likable man, but a decent man as well. He came dangerously close to experiencing genuine regard for Titov.
He offered his large hand to the fisherman.
“You are a good man, Sasha Titov. I am happy to be aboard this fine vessel.”
Titov extended his hand and clasped Eugene’s. Eugene’s hand dwarfed his. The men shared a sincere handclasp.
Eugene stared at Sasha Titov. His gaze zeroed in on his round face. Titov’s features withered slightly and began to display concern. Eugene did not relinquish his grip. Instead, he held tightly.
Eugene considered Sasha Titov a likable human, the most likeable he had encountered yet. But he was still a useless human, nevertheless.
He glowered down at the fisherman, watched as Titov’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion. Confusion quickly transformed to alarm as Titov tried desperately to remove his hand from Eugene’s vise-like grip.
Every cell within his construct hummed and vibrated as he tightened his grip. He savored the seconds that the plump, perpetually pleasant man ceased smiling and winced in pain. But Titov’s wounded cries did not deter him. They encouraged him. Eugene grasped even harder as his thin lips spread across his abnormally sharp incisors and twisted into a cruel smile.
Sasha Titov’s pallor blanched as Eugene wrung his hand. Within his crushing clutch, Eugene could feel the small bones in his hand yielding under the tremendous pressure being applied. He basked in the paling complexion of the enervated fisher.
Titov stared up at Eugene, his eyes bleary and unfocused. Eugene glared back at him from behind his dark glasses.
“Why?” Titov pleaded in an unsteadied voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Fueled by the misery he was inflicting and still, grinning maniacally, Eugene employed every ounce of his superior strength squeezing and twisting Titov’s hand. He felt knuckles shattering under the crippling compression as every bone in his hand splintered and fractured. His stomach quavered as he witnessed the loss of consciousness instigated by the excruciating pain of the pulverizing pressure.
When Titov regained cognizance, Eugene took the bowed man’s face in one hand. Squeezing his cheeks with his thumb and index finger, he rem
oved his dark lenses forcing Titov to look into his feline eyes.
His face was stricken as he questioned Eugene one last time. In a weakened whisper, he asked, “Why?”
Eugene spoke with rancor lacing his every word as rage welled within him.
“You’ve seen my face, friend,” he said, his voice low and maleficent. “You also know who sent me. I cannot allow anything that could lead back to him.”
He stared at Sasha Titov with hatred as the fisherman managed to murmur, appearing to struggle against succumbing to blackout.
“What about my crew?” Titov begged feebly. “They’ve never seen you.”
“I will tend to them as I am tending to you. Make no mistake about that,” Eugene growled. “Although I intend to make their suffering far greater.”
“No, please, don’t! They don’t know anything. You can’t do this!” Titov begged with sheer terror in his voice.
Ignoring his pleas Eugene cupped his hands around Titov’s face and cocked his head to one side to observe the burly, cherub–faced fisherman. Disgust brimmed and boiled beneath the surface of his skin as he regarded the loathsome human who enjoyed the rancid odor of fetid fish. Then in one swift motion he snapped Sasha Titov’s head sharply to the left, breaking his neck and severing his spinal column.
An involuntary shudder passed through Eugene’s body as the nauseating twinkle left his exasperatingly merry eyes, replaced instead with a fixed and vacant stare. Sasha Titov’s lifeless body lay inert, with mouth agape in horror, on the floor of the bridge. Eugene trembled a moment longer, his body overcome by exhilaration. He delighted in the seconds that life escaped Titov, allowed himself the privilege of lingering longer than he had with past killings. Such protraction was a treat he afforded himself on rare occasions, but knew that in this instance such an indulgence was unnecessary. He did not need to savor the fisherman’s death as the remaining four crew members slept in cabins below. Eugene would be able to take his time with them and appreciate their deaths.
The thought of more murder frenzied his senses. His insides buzzed and hummed alive, teeming with fervor. Eugene relished in his body’s impassioned response to the crew members who unknowingly awaited his wrath. He did not need to focus on any other aspect of his journey. Fortunately for him, the vessel captained by the late Sasha Titov was operating on autopilot. The steering mechanism was guided by a control positioned in the helm and interfaced with the ship’s GPS navigation system. The system did not require further interference unless he deemed it necessary. A course had been plotted by Titov prior to their encounter. The automatic pilot would steer the ship on the intended course. The vessel was headed for the Aleutian Islands, a chain of small islands in the Northern Pacific Ocean that separated the Bering Sea from the Pacific Ocean. Once it reached the preordained destination, however, Eugene would change the coordinates and head to the United States of America.
As the ship headed out of the Avacha Bay, an inlet large enough to accommodate any ship in the world, Eugene glanced out of the port hole at the horizon. Tri Brata, a set of three rocks at the entrance to the Avacha Bay, could be seen, their outline blacker than the darkness of the night sky. The usually picturesque arrangement was considered a symbol of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. Local lore suggested that they were the three brothers who went to defend the town from a tsunami and turned to stone. In the obscurity of the nightfall, the array looked sinister and foreboding. Eugene smiled broadly at the dark, stony brothers; their fate was far kinder than the one the remaining men aboard the Titov would receive.
Eugene headed out of Avacha Bay past the “Three Brothers” rocky pinnacles, through the mouth of the bay past Starichkov Island. He was destined for Alaska. Once on American soil, Eugene would travel to Port Angeles, Washington and refuel. He would be at sea covering nearly one thousand nautical miles.
In Port Angeles, Washington, a Hummer H1 Alpha identical to the one he abandoned in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky awaited Eugene. He would drive close to three thousand miles and cross through eight states to New York. He would traverse a great distance before taking up residence in the rural town of Stonewall in upstate New York.
Chapter 14
Gabriel drove Melissa to her home on Blackstone Drive. She sat in stunned silence, unable to process all that had happened. Overcome by shuddering that refused to end despite the warmth of the SUV, she wrapped her arms around her body.
She did not glance at Gabriel nor did she gaze out the window. Her eyes remained fixed, staring straight ahead, but focusing on nothing. Her thoughts had yet to regroup and regain a semblance of order. She continued hugging herself and gazing with unfocused eyes until Gabriel pulled his Explorer in to her driveway.
“Please, let me walk you in,” he said snapping her out of her nonspecific concentration.
She did not respond verbally, but waited as Gabriel climbed out, rounded the car and opened her door for her. Despite the violent trembling that racked her body, Melissa found Gabriel’s desire to open the door for her to be a courteous gesture, one she had heard of but had never been on the receiving end of. Even under such stressful circumstances, she appreciated his gallantry.
He took her hand and walked her to the front door. She was comforted by his help. Releasing her hand, Gabriel held the storm door as Melissa let herself in. He held her hand again as they moved down the hallway, past the living room and dining room to the family room in the rear of the house.
Melissa’s eyes widened when she saw that her father occupied the couch. Hunched over a tray table with a can of beer and fried cheese sticks, Christopher Martin took one look at his daughter’s battered face and lunged forward from his seat.
His features hardened as he sprung toward his daughter.
“Melissa what the hell happened to your face?” her father growled.
“Dad, what are you doing here? I mean, I didn’t see your truck in the driveway,” she asked and ignored her father’s question.
“I parked in the garage. But who cares. I asked you a question! What the hell happened to your face? Were you in an accident?” he demanded.
“No. Dad, there wasn’t a car accident or anything. I, well, I don’t know how to tell you. Gabriel,” she tried, but her father cut her off prematurely.
“Who is Gabriel and where do I find him?” he exploded.
“No, Dad, Gabriel is in the living room right now.”
“What?” he shouted.
Christopher Martin stormed past his daughter toward Gabriel. She looked on as he raged erroneously at Gabriel.
“You did this to my daughter?” he shouted.
Quickly closing the gap between him and Gabriel, her father seized Gabriel by his shoulder.
She watched in horror as her father grabbed Gabriel. Hate etched his every feature.
Melissa moved swiftly, positioning her body between the two men and shouted, “Dad, stop! Gabriel did not do this. Kevin Anderson did!” She felt her face blush to a deep crimson. “Kevin Anderson tried to attack me in the woods by the school after the bonfire. And I think he drugged me, too. ”
“He drugged you and took you off into the woods?” her father screamed.
She saw his face redden then immediately progress to an unhealthy purple. His brow furrowed to a scowl. His eyes were steely, penetrating. His jaw locked. Melissa had never seen her father so angry. She worried for his health–both physical and mental. A large vein protruded from his otherwise smooth forehead as he hissed through clenched teeth, “I’m going to kill him!”
“No, Dad. You can’t kill him,” she panicked. “As much as I’d like you to, you just can’t.”
Christopher Martin paced, each step crashed down on the hardwood flooring forcefully, with purpose. He stalked back and forth like a caged animal that had been provoked and contemplated its limited attack options.
“Tell me what happened,” he managed without halting his movement.
“There was a keg party in the woods after the bonfire. Kevin told me I
was taking a Tylenol. I took it with a beer. Next thing I know everything was hazy and spinning and Kevin was trying to, you know.”
Melissa could not speak the words to her father. They caught in her throat as tears streamed down her cheeks. She reeled from the events of the evening. Verbalization would mean reliving everything. And she was simply not ready to do that.
Melissa felt like a bystander witnessing a force of nature she was powerless to stop. She watched as her father, who just seconds ago resembled a volcano about to erupt, exploded.
“Where does Kevin Anderson live Melissa?” he demanded no longer speaking through clenched teeth but screaming in a voice hoarse and raw with rage.
Melissa’s mind raced as she searched for the words to halt her father from committing an act that, though deserving and befitting its intended target, was a crime.
“Dad, wait! What? Why? I mean, calm down. Gabriel took care of him.” Her voice quavered as she brushed back tears.
Unyielding, her father stormed past her to get his work boots from the garage.
He slammed the door shut and declared, “I am going to kill that Kevin Anderson.”
Melissa panicked, knew her father fully intended to make good on his threats against Kevin. She needed him to be rational, to see that killing Kevin Anderson–or even threatening him–would not be helpful to her in the least.
Incapable of controlling her father’s emotions, she instead sought to engage him with a piece of information she hoped would give him pause.
“Dad, seriously, Gabriel beat the crap out of Kevin. Even broke his nose.”
Though the information intrigued him, her father simply said, “Really, huh,” then blustered past Melissa and Gabriel toward the staircase.
“Yes! Dad, this is Gabriel,” Melissa stressed as she gestured to Gabriel.
Melissa attempted an introduction hoping to distract her father long enough for him to calm down.
Gabriel extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. Martin, sir. I am Gabriel James.”
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