Devil and Disciple

by L J K Cross

  ****

  Steve had been sat there so long that he was starting to blend in with the scenery. He was so frozen his body had melted into the bench he was sat on. He was covered in a thick layer of snow and had become almost indiscernible against the snowy palace that was St Nicholas Naval Cathedral, the rendezvous point. As his frosty camouflage weighed greater upon him, Steve slumped further and further forward, becoming more and more dejected. He had long since stopped his incessant shivering. All warmth had long since exited his body. All emotion had long since emptied from his heart. The vagrants who sheltered in the walls of the Cathedral were no longer paying any attention to the stranger in their midst. Steve gave them no more thought. He felt safer here than he had amongst those vultures of culture inside the Mariinsky.

  Steve glanced at his watch for the thousandth time that night, wishing, as he had been doing all night, for the next hour to bring the good news he was waiting for. But midnight had long gone. In that time the same questions fell thickly, laying heavy on his mind, the answers hidden below, just as this St Petersburg snow buried and hid everything in its path. Surely the opera had finished by now? Surely Amanda knew where the cathedral was? Its golden orbs were clearly visible from the steps of the Mariinsky, radiating beacons of salvation through the cruel winter storm. Surely she would be able to see him, this solitary figure illuminated by the lamp light beside his bench? Surely Amanda wouldn’t leave him stranded? Maybe…but Steve couldn’t bring himself to contemplate further. Maybe it was best that the heavy snow hid the stark reality that surrounded him. At least then Steve could cling on to the last shreds of hope he had. Steve was not religious but as he looked up at the golden cross high above him and took in the quiet serenity that prevailed under its guidance, he found himself praying for some kind of divine intervention, his last shred of hope.

  And so he continued to keep his vigil and waited, just as he had promised that he would always wait for her.

  Dawn was trying to break through the snow laden night sky. Steve had long since stopped looking at his watch. He had long since stopped hoping. He was past caring. Why should he when it was obvious that she wasn’t coming? Steve tried to stand, stabbing pains piercing his legs as if they were being attacked by an ice pick but Steve could only feel the stabbing pain in his heart. He began to walk, retracing his footsteps that were still there – just about. A lonely pair of footsteps on the verge of being erased from the earth. No one would miss them when they were gone. No one would even remember that they had existed.

  Steve wasn’t sure how but he found himself at the side of the Kryukov canal. It was as good a place as any. He was unable to go on and so he just stood looking down at the black icy water. The water would wash away all his regrets. It would wash away the agonizing pain in his heart. It would be so easy just to slide into the water and let it wash over him. Life was so difficult. Steve was sick of it, sick of there being a multitude of repercussions for every decision made, each one more complicated than the last. Well this was one decision that whatever the ramifications, they would no longer be of any concern to him.

  CHAPTER 23

  This most unpredictable of nights had just taken a most unexpected turning, taking Amanda down long, darkly lit corridors and steep descending staircases, to a part of the residence Amanda had never seen before, a part of the residence she had never expected to see.

  “Please enter,” beckoned Alexander, holding out his hand in invitation. Amanda accepted, not saying a word for fear of giving voice to her trembling apprehension and entered Alexander’s private lair.

  “Excuse me for a moment whilst I go and change. Please make yourself comfortable,” offered Alexander, with a hasty sweeping of his arm towards the room. Mid gesture, Alexander was already gone, swallowed up by the darkness. A solitary arm remained, lingering like the Cheshire cat’s grin, until it too disappeared. Amanda looked to where Alexander had pointed and wondered how she could possibly make herself comfortable. The darkness was so unnerving. It seemed to spread and spread with no telling what lurked under its protection and yet suffocated as its murky shrouds crept ever closer. Amanda moved to the centre of the small patch of light thrown by the fire and a scattering of dimming candles, wanting to stay as far from those tenebrous clutches as possible.

  The inadequate lighting revealed equally inadequate furnishings. All Amanda was able to see was a solitary, high backed Winchester armchair, an antique glass cabinet and the edge of a bed. The room was devoid of light, devoid of character, tellingly so. Despite her proximity to the roaring log fire, the temperature in the room felt below freezing. Amanda imagined Alexander’s soul to be the same: dark, empty, frozen.

  Amanda’s eyes were drawn to the glass cabinet. The roaring flames of the fire were reflected in its mirrored lining, the sacred memories it held encircled in flames. Amanda was reminded of a funeral pyre, eternally ablaze, unwilling to relinquish its spirit to the afterlife. Indeed the cabinet seemed to be a shrine to the memory of someone. It was in pristine condition as if tended to with the greatest of love and care.

  Amanda peered through the flames and saw an array of medals and trophies engaged in their own contest to be the most ornate. The lower shelves captured the accomplishments in photographs, capturing Amanda’s imagination. There were faded black and white photos of a young pigtailed girl eternally suspended in mid air, mid somersault or a timeless statue frozen in perfect dismount. The photographs then showed the young gymnast grow, switch sports and become a weightlifter who competed at the highest level. Yet even though the physique grew, developing considerably in size and power, the spell binding stare and the enticingly full pout remained the same.

  The shrine was not just dedicated to a woman of remarkable sporting prowess. There were several more personal photographs, depicting private family moments. One photograph in particular, the only colour photograph in the cabinet, of the woman and an awkward looking teenage boy, struck Amanda as being remarkably familiar. There was something so recognizable about it that Amanda abandoned her reluctance to pry into the intimate sanctity of the shrine. Taking the photograph off the shelf, Amanda held it closer to the candlelight, throwing an almost other worldly lustre over the figures in the picture. Amanda immediately recognized the lanky teenager as being a much younger Alexander. There was no mistaking that solemn, brooding glare, staring defiantly at the camera for having intruded on such a private moment. But it was the familiarity of the woman that caught Amanda off guard, a figure so familiar, so recognizable that Amanda felt she was looking in a mirror.

  Amanda stared disbelievingly at her reflection in the glass of the photo frame. She saw her hand reach up to pat her hair as if not quite trusting of what her eyes were showing her. Their hair colour and styles were identical. Their physiques were both those of an Amazonian warrior, their faces strikingly similar. The photograph even seemed to have captured Amanda’s characteristics; the relaxed, yet composed posture, the infectious, carefree smile, the ability to be completely absorbed in the moment to the point that the camera is forgotten. Then Amanda noticed the dress, an indiscernible copy of the one she was wearing at that very moment. The one that Alexander had given her and demanded that she wore. As the relevance of the fact sunk in, a fearful comprehension crept up behind Amanda, slipping its terrorizing fingers tightly, suffocatingly round her throat.

  A curt cough from behind pulled Amanda abruptly from her perturbing thoughts. She turned to find herself alarmingly close to Alexander, stood almost as close at he had been to the woman in the photograph. Instinctively Amanda hid the photograph behind her back, ashamed at having been caught prying into Alexander’s personal possessions, ashamed at the dark deductions she was drawn to.

  “What do you have behind your back?” demanded Alexander. He wore the same dark, defiant look as he had all those years ago in the photograph. Amanda knew there was no point in lying. His stare seemed to bore right through her, making any lie utterly transparent.

  “I
was just looking at the photos,” explained Amanda, producing the photograph from behind her back. “ I wanted a closer look because I thought I recognized you in it.” She tried to smile nonchalantly, trying not to alert Alexander to the fact that she was only half telling the truth – that she recognized herself in the photo as well.

  “Yes. That is I when I was young,” replied Alexander tersely. It was difficult to read Alexander’s response from beneath the dark, brooding mask he wore. The temperature in the room plummeted further as if instructed by his glacial manner. Amanda tried changing tack.

  “So who do all these medals and trophies belong to?”

  “They belonged to my mother. When she was young she represented the Soviet Union in gymnastics. This medal here,” he pointed to a gold medal taking pride of place in the cabinet, “is from the 1952 Olympic games in Helsinki when the Soviet women’s gymnastics team took gold.” From the pride in Alexander’s voice, it was almost as if he had won the gold medal himself.

  “When my mother’s gymnastics career finished, she switched to weightlifting and became World Champion. For a time she held several world records.”

  “She was obviously a remarkable woman,” remarked Amanda with genuine admiration in her voice.

  “She was truly remarkable,” agreed Alexander, taking the photograph from Amanda’s hands and looking at it fondly.

  “She excelled in everything she did. She was strong in every sense of the word. She was the perfect mother, the perfect woman. She was perfection.”

  The intensity with which he was staring at the photograph made Amanda feel uncomfortable, as if she was intruding on a private moment. His expression could even have been described as libidinous. Amanda immediately pushed such thoughts from her mind, though they were occurring more and more frequently the more she observed Alexander’s bizarre behavior. He seemed totally oblivious to Amanda’s presence and seemed to be talking solely to the photograph.

  “No one could ever come close to her. No one ever will.”

  “When was it taken?” asked Amanda, desperate to break the tension.

  “It was taken on my fifteenth birthday,” answered Alexander, without even looking up. “It was the last photograph I have of her.”

  Alexander’s voice had almost become a whisper. Amanda also whispered her next question, not sure if she should ask it, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She hanged herself…the following day.”

  Alexander began to shake as if an anger was being released from deep inside him, an anger that had been buried and left to fester and embitter over the years.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Amanda’s words of condolence fell on deaf ears. Alexander was too lost in his own private thoughts and overwhelming emotions.

  “It shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t know it would turn out that way. All I ever did was love her. In the end I loved her too much and brought the most wretched misery possible on both of us.”

  His words hung in the air. Amanda felt like a noose had been thrown around her neck, the implication of his words weighing down on her, draining the life from her. What did he mean “loved her too much?” Amanda prayed that her damning thoughts would prove to be unfounded, pleaded that his “wretched misery” wouldn’t be brought down on her too. Alexander looked up from the photograph. He looked possessed, brimming with prohibited desire, desire that he had spent years suppressing but was now no longer able to contain. Amanda knew her prayers would go unanswered.

  “You know why I chose you.” His voice had lost any trace of inflection, was devoid of emotion. It was thrown, resonating around the room, coming from anywhere other than Alexander. He seemed to be looking through, past Amanda, as if addressing a distant memory. Amanda felt like she was the only human in the room but she was not alone.

  “You know why I have to have you.”

  Amanda shook her head. She knew it wasn’t a question. She didn’t want to hear anymore. She didn’t want to be here anymore but she didn’t have any choice.

  “I need to rectify my wrongs. It is the only way to bring her back and stop all this pain.”

  Alexander reached out and took Amanda by the hand. His icy touch numbed her. She felt nothing. There didn’t seem to be any point any more. They were now joined by more than touch as the most disturbing of dark thoughts seeped septically from Alexander, infecting Amanda’s mind. She felt as if her spirit was dying. Alexander led her further into the darkness. The feeble candlelight provided little comfort or security. They came to a plinth and Alexander motioned for Amanda to stand on it before he once again disappeared into the darkness from where he came. A bright spotlight shone from above, illuminating not just Amanda’s body but shedding light on Amanda’s recurring nightmare. It had been a premonition, a warning. She was the statue and Alexander’s warped and twisted mind wanted to morph her beyond all grotesque recognition. She understood now but it was too late. Her nightmare had become her reality. She wanted to run back along the corridors that had led her here but where would she run to? Would she be able to run fast and far enough from this depraved fiend?

  A voice, low and full of lascivious intent, crept out of the darkness and up Amanda’s skin causing her to shudder.

  “Match! Ya sozhaleyu. Prostitye menya pozhaluysta. Ya ymolyayu tebya!”

  Amanda knew he was calling out to his mother, begging for her forgiveness. Now Amanda could imagine how he used to hide in the darkness, as he was doing now, observing his mother, as he was observing Amanda.

  Alexander stepped out of the dark shadows, unable to hide his desire any longer. He stood behind her on the plinth, his freezing breath on the back of her neck sending chills down her spine. He swept her hair to one side to reveal the nape of her neck. She felt his dry, thin lips touch her skin, his long pointed fingernail snake down her arm. Every inch of her wanted to recoil from his touch, flee his foraging fingers but the horror of her nightmare rooted her to the spot.

  “You look so beautiful,” he whispered. With every syllable Amanda fought to keep the nausea from rising in her throat.

  “You are the picture of perfection.”

  The words whispered in her ear were intended for another. The foul breath that carried them reeked of the past life from which they came.

  His lips moved down to her shoulders but they were no longer dry. Amanda heard stifled sobbing and realized that they were Alexander’s tears trickling down her skin.

  Amanda felt not a drop of empathy, only disgust and loathing. Her heart had become as frozen as the room.

  “This was always my favourite dress on you.”

  As he spoke his fingers expertly unfastened the sole clip on the dress as if he had rehearsed it over and over again in his dreams. The last barrier between them was removed. Amanda looked down at her nakedness. She saw the dress on the floor knowing that it had been the actual dress his mother had been wearing in the photograph. She looked at his hand crawling across her stomach and knew that she had to put a stop to this sick fantasy.

  “No Alexander!” Amanda shouted, grabbing his hand and spinning round to face him.

  “This can’t happen. This is wrong.”

  The force with which she spoke and the force with which she grabbed Alexander belied the fear she felt. The initial shock on Alexander’s face was now erupting in rage. His eyes narrowed focusing all his vengeful hatred upon her.

  “That was what you said last time,” he spat. The acidic spray burnt Amanda’s skin.

  “I wont let you reject me again. I will have you. I must have you.”

  With his free hand, Alexander made to grab Amanda’s arm but she was too quick. They locked into a grapple, a battle not just of will but a fight of fate. Both shook not with exertion but with emotion – Alexander with anger, Amanda with adrenalin. Both feared losing. Both saw their fear reflected in their opponent’s eyes but neither was willing to turn away. Even to blink would be seen
as a sign of surrender and surrender was not an option for either of them.

  “Master.” A voice broke through the deadlock although neither Alexander nor Amanda relaxed their holds.

  “Master,” came the voice again as the room flooded with light. Alexander immediately took his hands off Amanda and took a hesitant step backwards. He seemed ashamed at having his debauch fantasies exposed by the light.

  “What?” seethed Alexander. “What do you want? How dare you interrupt.” Alexander directed all his anger and frustration at Koroviev but Koroviev stood his ground, unfazed.

  “I am sorry to interrupt but there is something urgent that I need to bring to your attention.”

  “Can it not wait?” fumed Alexander impatiently. His eyes darted from Koroviev to Amanda and back to Koroviev as if struggling with the logic of his mind over the emotion of his heart.

  “No it can’t Master. I must ask you to come with me immediately.”

  Logic won this time. Alexander knew it must be of the utmost importance for Koroviev to disturb him. He hastily followed Koroviev out of the room without so much as a backward glance but both Alexander and Amanda knew that unfinished business remained.

  Amanda listened as their footsteps faded away. As each step became more distant Amanda was able to breathe more easily. Amanda said a quiet prayer thanking God for Koroviev’s opportune arrival. He had walked in the room bringing light and deliverance from the darkest of moments. He had been her savior, her guardian angel. Amanda gathered up her dress from the floor. That dress. She would have preferred to have put on anything other than that dress, but it was the only piece of clothing to hand. Amanda felt violated by what had just transgressed, her nakedness made her feel uneasy and all too vulnerable. Hurrying out of the room as fast as her shaking legs would carry her, Amanda caught sight of a piece of paper on the floor at almost the exact spot where Koroviev had been stood. Curiosity got the better of her as she stooped to pick it up and read it.