Daria Desombre - The Sin Collector

Katyshev rose to his feet and sighed.

“Sometimes you have to wonder. Maybe we should give the guy the chance to finish what he started.”

Masha woke up when the front door slammed. She stayed in bed for a minute, listening. Not a sound. Kenty must have left for a meeting with a client, or maybe he’d gone to buy more groceries to cook for her, try to make amends. Masha wasn’t mad at him anymore. And she realized now that she hadn’t been convinced, not really, that the killer was as religious as all that. It was more likely, she thought as she got dressed, that he was just using religion as a cover. The idea of Heavenly Jerusalem, coupled with the list of Torments, gave him a precise pattern to work with. A path he could follow while doing just what his heart desired. And speaking of hearts…

Masha called her mother’s cell phone, but landed in her voice mail. She was probably still sleeping.

Masha walked to the kitchen and poured herself some juice. She really was feeling better, here in Kenty’s apartment. She decided she would not think about her stepfather. She would not think about the Sin Collector. She would think about those things tomorrow, and she was sure she’d have to keep thinking about them for a good long while. But today? Today she would try to read a book, maybe one from Kenty’s collection. Nothing too serious, though, just something from when they were kids. Maybe a book from that Adventure Stories series. She had seen some of those in the study. Or Sir Walter Scott, or Thomas Mayne Reid. Masha leaned over the couch, one hand holding her glass of juice, the other hand running over the familiar book spines. Aha! Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island . Perfect! Masha hooked the little volume with one fingernail, and it slid off the shelf and into her waiting hand.

In the gap where The Mysterious Island had been, she could see the dark wood of the book case, and also something white. An envelope? Masha frowned. Was Kenty hiding money in his bookshelf? That didn’t seem like the kind of thing he would do. So what was it? Masha wavered. She downed the rest of her juice and tossed the book onto the sofa. Still frowning, she reached for the envelope, and carefully slid it out from between the books. For a second, Masha stopped, ashamed of herself. The envelope was obviously supposed to be hidden away from prying eyes. But her curiosity won out. Kenty had already let her in on one huge secret, so, Masha reasoned, it made sense to check, just to make sure he wasn’t hiding some other nasty surprise, right? She’d just take a quick look, she told herself, that was all. The envelope was not sealed.

Inside, there were photographs. But these weren’t photos of both of them together, from the days Kenty and Masha made the rounds of youth festivals and parties. These pictures—black-and-white, glossy—were of Masha alone. Every single one of them.

After seeing the first one, she gasped and dumped out the rest. There was one shot of Masha leaving home in the morning, walking, laughing carelessly, with one of the boys from college who used to have a crush on her. There she was drinking champagne with her mother at a premiere at the Bolshoi. There was Katya, and other friends of hers, too. What was this? You could track her whole life through these pictures! School, her family, her friends, different events… Innokenty had been following her! For a long time, too. Masha remembered very clearly that outing to the Bolshoi five years ago, because her mother had forced her to wear a low-cut, floor-length dress. Innokenty had not been there with them. Or apparently he had been, but she hadn’t seen him. Was he hiding behind a column or something, focusing on her through the lens of his camera? Masha looked with horror at all these snapshots from her life, spread all around her. Why had he done this? Why had he spied on her?

Masha swallowed nervously and stood up, brushing the pictures off her like poisonous insects crawling up her legs. She needed to get out of here, and now. She dashed into the hallway, where the cow-eyed faces of the old icons watched her from the white walls. Shaking all over, she struggled to put on her shoes. For God’s sake, how could she have ever felt safe here? There was nowhere in this city where she could feel safe anymore! And she didn’t think there was a single person she could trust, either. One thought nearly made her physically ill. She would have to go back to the empty apartment she had deserted, just a few hours before, where everything reminded her of her father and stepfather, and where—she knew for sure now—the killer had certainly set foot. Masha pushed open the heavy front door with clammy hands, and ran out into the echoing stairwell.

Suddenly Masha heard movement on the stairs below. The measured, confident step of a tall man, taking two stairs at a time. Innokenty. She scurried in the other direction and walked one flight up, and stood concealed behind the grating of the elevator shaft, watching him unlock the door.

“Masha?” he called, his voice worried.

The door closed behind him, and Masha flew like a bird down the stairs, rushing headlong to confront her own solitude.

From the moment he left Anyutin’s office, where the colonel and Katyshev were still bemoaning the morals of the day, Andrey knew there was no way he would be capable of thinking, or engaging in any investigative activities whatsoever, until he saw Masha. He needed to embrace Masha Karavay, press her body to his and never let her go, until either they found the killer or he stopped killing. He would hold her that long, or maybe even forever. Eternity in Masha’s embrace didn’t seem like such a bad deal. Andrey didn’t really trust Innokenty, but still, he felt better knowing she was with him rather than all alone. When he called and heard her expressionless voice on the line, pronouncing just two words—“I’m home”—Andrey did not stop to ask questions.

I just need to remember to stop at the store, he thought as he parked in front of Masha’s building. His fridge was empty again. But that would be later, with her by his side.

As Andrey climbed the stairs, he heard voices. One male, speaking quietly, and the other female, slightly hysterical, which sounded as if it were coming from behind a closed door. He couldn’t make out the words at first. But the higher he climbed, the more distinct the dialogue became. He recognized Innokenty’s voice. And the first words he understood stopped Andrey in his tracks.

“Masha, please!” Innokenty was saying. “Please forgive me! I feel like all I’m doing is apologizing, admitting things I’ve done wrong. What do you think? That I’m insane and I’ve been stalking you for years? Don’t you think that might not be it at all? Isn’t there—” Innokenty paused for a second. “Don’t you see any other reasons, aside from me being some sort of bloodthirsty maniac, that I might have—Masha, why can’t you see? I—”

“You lied to me!” Masha interrupted him, the panic sounding in a long, high note in her voice.

Andrey couldn’t wait any longer, and he sprang forward.

“You hid so much from me!” Masha yelled. “I don’t trust you now. I don’t trust anyone!”

Andrey reached the landing and saw Innokenty standing with his forehead pressed to Masha’s apartment door. He turned to Andrey, his eyes lost and unseeing.

“Masha!” Andrey called. “It’s me. Open the door.”

Andrey stepped forward, and Innokenty stepped aside, his shoulders shaking. “Please, Masha,” said Andrey.

The door cracked open and there she stood, tears in her eyes.

“Where have you been?” She took a step toward Andrey. “Why did it take you so long to get here?”