Page 89 of Essence of Fear

She had so many questions in that moment. He spoke to this man—Grisha—like the two of them had known each other for years. The man came out of the hallway into the dim lighting, and she could see the gray at his temples, and the lines deepening his aging face. He had to be at least thirty years older than Pav, at least.

How would they know each other?

“The older you get,” Grisha said, “the more you look like him, you know?”

Pav cleared his throat. “I can’t remember his face most times.”

“Trust me, Pavel. You look just like your father. The room is empty—as it always is. You and your … friend there, keep it to a dull roar. You know the loft is always open to you, if you need to use it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“If you’re around in the morning, stay for breakfast. We have to catch up.”

“Sure,” Pav agreed.

Grisha leaned to the side a bit and his gaze landed on Viktoria where she was peeking out around Pav. “Have a good night, you two.”

Then, the man grabbed a bottle of water sitting on the island in the kitchen area before he disappeared into the hallway again. He didn’t make a sound as he left, but she heard the click of a door closing somewhere in the darkness.

“Who was that?” she asked. “How do you know him?”

Pav’s hand squeezed her side again. “In a minute. Come on.”

She didn’t question him. He led her across the main area of the loft, and she took in the few scattered toys in a corner. Not to mention the gaming system sitting in front of the large flat-screen television, currently paused on some war game. She looked back at the shoes lining the wall next to the door, realizing there were every size, from men’s boots to children’s. Same with the coats lining the wall on hooks.

“How many people live here?”

“As many as he can keep, or as many that need help for a time,” Pav replied quietly. “There’s five bedrooms in the back. They built them in as they needed them.”

“They?”

“Grisha and my father.”

Her heart stopped for a second as she realized what he was telling her. This was where he lived … before the Compound and the chambers. Before hell had come for him, this was the place he called home.

“Is it like a shelter now?”

“No, it’s just a home.”

Viktoria blinked, unsure of what to say.

Soon, he had led them to the back hallway where Grisha had come from earlier. At the very end, past all the rooms that were closed tight, he turned the knob on a door and opened it to a quiet bedroom. Against one wall rested a queen-sized bed that was still made, and a dresser with a small mirror. A smaller bed—a twin—rested on the other side of the room. It too was made and looked untouched.

“He thought my father would come back,” Pav said as he stepped into the room. She stayed in the doorway, taking in the space. On the dresser, there were framed photos. It wasn’t hard, even from her position, once the light was turned on, to recognize the young face of the child holding onto the hand of a taller man. It was Pav. “He knew Dimitri was doing business he didn’t approve of … dangerous business.”

“With my father?”

“People around Vadim,” Pav replied quietly.

Oh.

“But he said nothing because they needed money. They’d been friends since they were kids. He was there when my mother died; Grisha was there when I learned how to walk, or that’s what he told me. So he didn’t tell my father to stop—he just turned his cheek.”

“You said he thought your father would come back?”

“He left the room empty; didn’t touch anything. He never asked around because he knew what happened to people who asked about Boykov business. He just waited, yeah?”

She felt cold.