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In a flash, she’s out the window, and with no guards manning the gate, she slips away.
I watch the first snowflake fall. And from Stasia’s open window, I stick out my tongue to taste it, closing my eyes to remember my sister.
Please, please don’t let that be the last time I see her.
“Who took my diamond?”Papa screams at the staff later that night when Stasia doesn’t come down for dinner.
As his guards furiously search the estate, guilt strikes me. I didn’t realize suggesting she fake her kidnapping would make Papa turn against everyone in the house.
Yulia yells at him in Russian while holding me against her chest. Angry words I don’t understand and lots of spittle fly between them. She lifts her spine and waves her arms, presumably to sayI’vebeen dancing all day.
Papa drags her away, and a door to the basement slams shut while she screams.
Shaking, I lower myself to the floor with my head down. When I hear a gunshot, I know Papa killed her. She was home when Stasia left, and it’s her responsibility to keep an eye on us, even though we’re technically adults.
Papa comes back from the basement and marches to the security booth near the gate by the street. He drags each guard on duty that afternoon from the booth. One-by-one, they’re thrown down by Maksim and shot, execution style. I flinch and turn away, covering my ears, so I don’t hear the shots, but still, I feel the pulse of each round of gunfire. How unfair! They were following orders to wait at the base of the driveway to make sure Papa doesn’t get ambushed.
What have I done? My father has gone mad!
Am I next?
Dressed in a soft wool sweater dress and suede boots, I look up from a corner in the dining room. My father stands over me, covered in blood, a massive gun in his hand, the tip smoking. Vomit crawls up my throat, but a wave of bravery comes over me as I claw at the wall to stand up.
“I didn’t ask to be brought here. I have been a good daughter. Given younotrouble.”
He waves the gun. “You were home. Your bedroom is right across the hall.”
I consider the cameras and try to undo my mess. “I heard nothing, Papa. Maybe… Maybe she left on her own.”
“She would not leave me.Sheknows her duty.” He tracks an angry gaze over me. “But if you hear from her, you are to tell me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa.” He won’t kill me if he thinks I need to be alive to get a message from her. “I will. I promise.”
He leaves, and I stare out the dining room window as food on the table sits uneaten. The snow Stasia mentioned blankets the entire estate. I take my dinner to my room, but I can’t eat.
I watch the snow fill the sky and stare at the gate, hoping Stasia changed her mind. Only to swallow my emptiness at all the fresh powder with no footprints.
I bury myself completely under the covers, but don’t really feel like I’ve slept. I just shake the whole night. I have one last class in the morning before Spring Break. Not that I’ll be going anywhere.
Ever again.
In the morning sun, amidst a sea of white, I’m exhausted, but classes aren’t canceled. I ask my driver to stop at the diner to get a coffee. Yulia used to make a carafe just for me since Stasia and Papa drink tea. The smell of fresh roasted beans greeted me every morning. Today, only the smell of bleach wafted through the entire first floor.
At the diner counter, I order a large, dark roast coffee. My eyes wander further inside while I wait. My heart stops. Lachlan O’Rourke struts to a booth. He’s dressed all in black again. In fact, he looks the same as he did last week. But his wide shoulders and height look more dangerous from far away. He wears the same expression I always see. A wicked smile. Word around town is he’s insane. Is that why he killed a priest?
I get my coffee and think about our conversation by the gazebo all the way to school. The sound of his voice with that accent gave me butterflies.
When I get to school, I ace my exam faster than any other student. I don’t want to go home, so I duck into the library’s computer lab, figuring I have thirty minutes before the driver comes looking for me. I use an outdated desktop in the lab because I don’t want what I’m about to look up in my phone’s browser history.
I easily find news articles about a catholic priest who was found shot dead in his bed. It isn’t hard to locate since priests don’t get killed every day. In fact, I only see this one incident, and I assume it’s what Stasia was talking about.
There’s no mention of Lachlan. Stasia reminded me that the Russians, the Italians, and the Irish rarely face justice. Fergus O’Rourke, Lachlan’s father, must have had it ‘taken care of.’ That’s how powerful the former Irish King was. He made that kind of heinous crime go away.
Reading on, I see the priest’s name.
Father Eamon Gallagher.
At the time of his death, he was an assistant pastor in a different parish and wasn’t living in Astoria.
