Chapter 4 The taken

The inside of the sedan was a quiet and neither of the woman said a word. The door closed with a hushed thud, sealing Katerina in with the faint, elegant scent of Anastasia’s perfume. The driver then pulled smoothly into the London night as rain began to streak the tinted windows, turning the city lights into blurry smears of color.

“Who are you?” Katerina’s finally asked, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a hollow, trembling fear. Whatever evil had brought in the thought of stabbing the stranger in the neck with her keys has disappeared.

Anastasia nodded. “A friend, Katerina. Though I understand you have no reason to believe that.” Her accent was more pronounced in the confines of the car.

“Those men… they said ‘Morozov.’ Who is he? Why does he want me?”

“Ivan,” Anastasia said softly, almost to herself. She turned her gaze from the window. “He is… a complicated man. And you are a complication he believed was resolved.”

“I don’t understand.” The frustration was a physical ache. “I don’t know any Ivan Morozov. I’ve never been to Russia. My whole life is here, my work.”

Anastasia studied her face, her eyes searching for something. A lie, a flicker of recognition. She seemed to find only genuine, terrified confusion. “Your work,” she repeated, a hint of a sad smile on her lips. “Piecing together broken things. It does suits you, in a way you cannot yet know.”

“You're not giving me the answer I want to hear. Why? Why did you call me Sasha? what did this Ivan send me a bundle of cash? what's his connection with the Nova import case? Who's Don? Who's those guys and what the fuck do you guys want me for?” She took a deep breath to steady herself, glaring dagger into the woman's temple.

“Answers you want, dear, and answers you'll give. Have a little Patience, in few minutes or maybe hours you'd get all the answers you need.”

They drove for twenty minutes, leaving the bright city center for a quieter, tree-lined streets of a neighborhood she didn’t recognize. The car finally stopped in front of a tall, elegant townhouse with dark windows.

“Don't be scared, sweetie. If I wanted to do anything I would've done it. And I see the keys you grip so tightly. Everyone knows Sasha doesn't need a sword to slay a man in halves,” Anastasia said, leading her up the steps. “Come with me.”

“There you go again with that name.”

Inside, the house was tastefully furnished, but it had the sterile, unlived-in feel of a very expensive rental. Anastasia gestured to a plush sofa. “Sit. I will make us some tea. It has been a long night.”

Katerina remained standing, her arms wrapped around herself. “I'm sorry, I didn't know I gave off the impression of a thirsty broke woman.” She replied sarcastically. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now, or I might actually slay you.”

Anastasia busied herself in the small, modern kitchen. The clink of porcelain was unnaturally loud. “What do you remember, Katerina? From before.”

“Before what?”

“Before London. Before the… your job, your therapist, your life here in London.”

Katerina shook her head, a familiar despair rising. “Nothing.”

Anastasia gavd her a look.

“What? You think I'd follow a stranger to this unfamiliar place if I know whatever the heck is going on? I woke up in a hospital five years ago. With a hole in my head after being mugged as the police said. I had no ID, no memory of what had happened, I was at the hospital until my mother found me, she died two years ago from an accident.” It was a story she’d told a hundred times, to landlords, to employers wherever she went. It always felt like she was reciting a script about someone else’s life.

Anastasia brought over two cups of steaming tea. “Your mother?” She placed one on the coffee table in front of Katerina. The tea was a pale gold, smelling of herbs and honey. “A mugging,” she murmured, her tone laced with skepticism. “How convenient.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the world you have built for yourself is a beautiful lie, dusha moya,” she replied. “And the truth is at the door. It will not be gentle.”

“Seriously, can you stop beating around the bush?”

“Havd you tea, and we'll talk.” She gestured towards the cup.

“Yeah I'm thirsty, but how sure am I that you didn't poison it?”

“You insult me, Sasha. If I wanted you dead or unconscious I have hands for it, or I would just call the boys. Your memory loss will be one point for me.”

And it really doesn't make sense that she brought her here just to poison her tea.

She stared at her suspiciously before grabbing the teacup, the warmth seeping into her cold hands. Maybe the tea would help. She took a sip and exhaled at the floral, slightly bitter taste.

“The man you are looking for… Ivan,” Anastasia began, watching her. “Is not your enemy. Not truly. He is a man who has been living in a tomb of his own making. You are the key, the key to many unsolved mysteries that ticks him off whenever he thinks about it.”

Katerina took another sip. The bitterness seemed to spread through her, a strange heaviness pulling at her limbs. Her vision blurred around the edges and she tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t obey.

“You li—little fucker.” she slurred, the cup slipping from her fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor.

Anastasia was there in an instant, catching her as she slumped forward. Genuine regret masking her face. “I am sorry,” she whispered, her voice coming from far away. “It is the only way. He needs to see you, and bringing you there soaked in blood would be my end. So this is the only way. He needs to see that the ghost is real.”