Page 78 of Shadows of the Past
"Julia," I say, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Call Akim. Tell him it's urgent."
Zoya's eyes widen in panic, and she starts shaking her head frantically. Keeping the gun trained on her, I move to check the boy on the sofa.Please let him be okay.For everyone's sake, Zoya better hope she doesn't try anything stupid right now, because I wouldn't hesitate.
He has a pulse. Just unconscious. If Julia hadn't gotten here…tomorrow morning, we would have found another small body dumped near the woods. It’s so obvious now, sickeningly clear. Their cottage is practically spitting distance from where theother bodies were found. Zoya knew the camera blind spots, the patrol schedules… But why?
I don't know how long we stand there in suffocating silence. Eventually, I hear Akim's heavy, hurried footsteps approaching. No amount of time could have prepared him for this. He bursts into the room, his gaze taking everything in—the unconscious boy, me with my gun on Zoya, Julia standing tensely nearby.
His first reaction is pure fury when he sees Zoya’s bleeding arm. "WHO?" The single word is a raw demand.
Zoya just trembles, her tear-filled eyes darting toward Julia.
When Akim's gaze follows hers, his face contorts with rage. He takes a menacing step toward Julia, toward the woman who holds my sanity in her hands.
"You better stop right there," I warn, my voice low and dangerous.
"I want to know why my sister is bleeding and looking terrified of Julia," he snarls, ignoring me, his focus locked on Julia. "NOW!"
"She's the one hurting the children, Akim." Julia's voice is quiet, almost gentle, as if trying to cushion the blow, but the words themselves are brutal, shattering.
For a second, Akim's gaze flicks to his sister, confusion warring with disbelief. He shakes his head slowly. "Zoya? Are you both crazy?" But then he looks back at us, at the grim certainty etched on our faces, and the denial starts to crumble.
"Akim, they're lying! Both of them!" Zoya lunges toward her brother, but it's that very desperation, so unlike her usual shy demeanor, that makes him recoil, taking an involuntary step back.
"Take off your gloves," Akim commands, his voice strained, on the verge of breaking. I know he's fighting back tears.
Zoya just shakes her head, wrapping her arms around her middle protectively.
The next moment, Akim reaches out, yanking off one glove, then the other. Instead of the discolored patches or formations typical of her skin condition, we see scratches. Mostly healed, faint pink lines against her pale skin, but undeniably there. Scratches that match the timeline of the last victim found a week ago.
Tears finally spill over, tracking paths down Akim’s face as he stares at the undeniable proof. His voice choked, he asks the single, soul-destroying question, "Why?"
I expect her to refuse, to deny, but seeing her brother utterly broken seems to snap something inside her. She offers an explanation, her voice eerily calm, detached.
"I'm freeing them, Akim," she says, almost conversationally. "You both always complain you can't save enough, so I'm helping. Also," she adds, a strange lightness entering her tone, "sometimes, they cry so much. But look now," she gestures vaguely toward the unconscious boy. "They don't cry anymore. And there's this voice…in my head…it tells me I'm helping them this way."
Akim’s hands find the wall for support, his knees buckling until he slides down, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Zoya continues talking, pacing now, spinning in slow circles, lost in her fractured reality.
"Besides," Zoya continues, her gaze shifting suddenly, disturbingly, toward me, "he would have left, Akim. That’s why I helped you free them," she says, the word “free” now carrying a sickening double meaning, "so he wouldn't leave here.
That's why I told Aleksandr about your plans to run away with Vera all those years ago."
The relief flooding her voice is grotesque, as if this twisted explanation makes perfect sense, as if her actions weren't monstrous. I know Akim understands the devastating implication buried in her confession. But as she finishes, my gaze snaps back to her, and the edges of my vision bleed red.
"What did you just say?" The words are low, barely a growl, ripped from my throat.
I see her flinch, take a stumbling step back. Her only saving grace is Akim, who gets up, standing frozen just behind me, a silent, broken statue.
"She told me you were leaving!" Zoya cries, her voice rising again, laced now with a petulant accusation, raw revulsion aimed at me. "You were going to leave us behind!"
All this time. All these years believing Vera and I were caught because I was careless, because I messed up. All this time, the guilt gnawing at me…and it was her. She took Vera’s kindness, her trust, and fed her directly to the fucking snakes.
I can’t look at her anymore. The sight of her makes me physically ill.
Julia's voice cuts through the suffocating silence, sharp with dawning realization. "You sent Gregory to my room when Max was gone," she states, not a question. "That’s why he looked at Akim when Max asked who was responsible. Not because Akim sent him. You did."
My head whips toward Zoya, a desperate, irrational hope flickering.Please, tell me this isn’t true.
But she just lifts her chin, glaring defiantly at Julia, and spits, "You came here and ruined everything! You think I didn’t see how he looks at you? He would have left for you!"
