No, she could not do it.
She needed to try and discern if he had family somewhere. Which meant more time wasted, more time from her investigation while she figured out what her options were without putting him somewhere terrible, from which he might never return.
She knew what she probably should do with him.
Meaning, she knew what Karkoff would say.
Karkoff would tell her to bring him in to KGB headquarters at Lubyanka.
Given what he’d known about her and about Golunsky, they would question him, even if she told them he was mentally ill. If her new friend refused to talk, or gave them gibberish answers like this, about angels and demons and heavenly realms, they would torture him.
They would do it for days perhaps, hoping that might loosen his tongue.
As for how he knew those things about her, she might never know the truth. It was possibly Uri, or possibly someone else taunting her through this man’s insanity. Either way, keeping him here was out of the question, given his state of mind.
Or it should have been, at least.
Even as she sat there, thinking all of these things with utter certainty, she did not act. She only sat there with him at her kitchen table as he told her his crazy stories. She didn’t escort him to her door, or back inside her dingy yellow Lada. She listened, not nodding or answering, while her coffee sat at her elbow, slowly getting cold.
She didn’t want KGB interrogators getting their hands on this man. Despite his obvious insanity, something about him still struck her as deeply kind.
So when he finally fell silent, she spoke before she knew she meant to.
“What makes you think this... demon... did this...” Ilana hesitated, fighting for words. “...This thing to you? Turned you human? Was it not due to this strange key you found, as you said? What makes you think the demon is behind it?”
The man calling himself the Archangel Raguel shook his head.
His gray eyes met hers, and again she struggled to retain her objectivity. The intensity behind his stare made it difficult to hold his gaze without falling into it.
“I do not know.” He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “...Not for sure. But I think I am right that he is behind this somehow. It is the only thing that makes sense.”
Raguel’s perfect lips curved in a frown. He continued in that equally precise Russian, which still sounded more like it came from one of Ilana’s University professors than from a lunatic found naked and screaming in Gorky Park.
“...But I think I am right,” he continued. “Lahash wished for me to pick up that key. He taunted me, trying to get me to take it. I did not see it at the time, but it is clear now. I would never have thought any demon-created object could have that kind of power, though. Not over one such as me. I was more concerned for the danger it posed a human who might find it.”
“And this... Lahash...”
“You call him Golunsky, yes,” Raguel said, giving her another of those penetrating stares. “This has to be part of some larger plan of his. He is plotting something. Perhaps something big.” He continued to hold her gaze, his eyes serious. “I think you were wrong in that, Ilana. I know you did not think his motives were political during the interrogations, and I understand why, but you are only half right, I suspect.”
Ilana froze at his casual mention of her thoughts.
Raguel didn’t seem to notice.
“...It is possible he wanted me out of the way. It is equally possibly he wished to distract my brethren with what happened to me down here. They are certainly looking for me by now. They will be looking for an angel though, not a human. It might take them a long time to think to look for me as a human being...”
“But your boss, this...” She fought to remember the names.
“Mik’hil,” Raguel said.
He didn’t pronounce the name like the Russian version that was similar, but at least it was borderline familiar.
“...Mikhail. He did not think this object was demon-made?” she said.
Raguel frowned, taking another sip of the coffee. “He did not know. But it must be, do you not think? To have done this to me?”
Ilana fought not to frown.
She didn’t answer him, not at first.
She did not want to anger him. Nor did she––for less explicable reasons––really want to hurt his feelings. But something in her face must have caught his attention in a relevant way finally, because he leaned back in his chair, letting out an audible sigh.
“I can’t read anything you’re thinking in this form,” he said, exhaling again, his frustration more audible. “But I strongly suspect you’ve decided I’m mentally impaired. That will not help us make progress in dealing with our immediate problems, I’m afraid.”
He studied her with those gray eyes.
“Do you intend to turn me in to your superiors?” he said. “Or to a mental institution?”
When the silence stretched, Ilana shrugged.
“Would you consider letting me go, instead?” he said, weaving his fingers together on the table. “I would rather do this with you... I would much rather do it with you, frankly. But it is better that I do it alone than not at all.”
The silence stretched longer that time.
At the end of that one, it was Ilana’s turn to sigh.
“Your mental state is not my problem, comrade,” she said, giving him a grim smile. “Not if you intend me no harm. Not if you do not pose a danger to anyone else. But if you are right about Golunsky having a political motive, it becomes my problem. And that you would offer this information to me puts me in a difficult situation.”
“Because you are obligated to turn me in to your superiors in the KGB?”
Ilana stared, her jaw dropping. She’d almost forgotten his mention of “Special Projects” to that idiot ment. He really did know where she worked.
Raguel noticed, but did not wait for her to speak. He held up a hand.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I know it disturbs you that I know these things, but I do not have time to play human games with this. That is what you meant, yes? That you are obligated to turn me in, since I told you I am aware of a possible political crime about to be committed?”
She closed her mouth with a snap.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“But if you think I’m insane, then that is just a formality for you, is it not? You won’t even look into the possibility that I might be right about Golunsky, will you, given that?” Raguel folded his muscular arms, made more bulky by the sweater he wore. “So it does not even help to get you back working on the political angles of the case, if you turn me in?”
Ilana found herself staring, in spite of herself, trying to make sense of his words. When she didn’t answer for a few seconds more, Raguel exhaled.
“So this is it?” he said. “You will humor me and then take me back to that jail cell and forget I said anything?” Raguel watched her, his expression rock-still. “That, or you will take me to your superiors to torture to find out how I knew so much about you... and why I would claim Golunsky had political ties? Or possibly, if you are feeling pity for me, you will take me to a social worker or a psychologist. None of which helps me. Or you, for that matter.”
Her frown deepened. She was a little unnerved to have him repeat her own thoughts back to her a second time. “What would you have me do, comrade?”
“I would have you hear me that human politics are not a demon’s concern,” Raguel said, leaning over the table once more. “They are a tool, Ilana, nothing more. He would harm you as human beings. He does not care about your politics. He does not care anything about your quarrel with the United States... or the even more quiet wars you conduct within your own borders. Or within your own government.”
Puzzled, she stared at him. “What is the difference?”
Raguel narrowed his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what is the difference between something being political versus p
olitics being used as a tool for a specific end?” Ilana said.
He exhaled. “A great deal, if you waste time worrying about the wrong people and things.” He continued to watch her face, his gray eyes a darker, smokier crystal now. “You could give Lahash time to make his move. He could act before I return to a form where I could actually stop him. Or he could simply find someone to kill him in prison––allowing him to jump bodies and making it impossible for me to find him at all down here.”
She smiled faintly in spite of herself, folding her own arms and copying his body posture without really thinking about it. “This is what worries you about this scenario? That I might not follow the investigation into Golunsky’s political affiliations? That I might ‘waste time,’ as you put it? Versus helping you to stop him?”
He frowned at her openly. “What else should worry me, Ilana?”
“Prison, perhaps?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Torture? Confinement in a mental institution? All three? Have you done time in a real Russian prison, comrade? I suspect if you had, you would be more concerned about that problem of yours than you are about whatever Golunsky might do.”
“Perhaps I trust that you will not let such a terrible thing happen to me, Ilana.”
She glanced up, expecting humor, but his eyes remained crystal-still.
“And why would I do that?” she said, grunting.
She avoided his eyes as she said it, however.
As for him, he didn’t answer, not even with a shrug. He continued to watch her face instead, that intense scrutiny verging on unnerving now.
Ilana ended up being the one who looked away that time, too.
“Or perhaps that is not my priority, regardless,” he added, softer.
Sighing in frustration, she shook her head, pushing her long hair over one shoulder. “At this rate, I am thinking I would not have to tell them anything about you,” she muttered. “You seem to have no problem sharing this information freely on your own. Have you totally forgotten what country we live in, comrade?” She looked up, verging on annoyed now for some reason. “I found you in a jail cell. Why on earth should I think you would not simply return to another jail cell on your own, regardless of what I did or did not do?”
When she met his gaze that time, he smiled faintly.
Enough that she knew he had read her meaning, even before he spoke.
“Thank you, Ilana,” he said.
“Do not thank me yet,” she warned.
He only smiled wider, however.
Ilana exhaled again in frustration when she realized maybe he was right. He didn’t really have to worry––not about her, at least. She intended to do her best to make sure he didn’t end up in a place like that. But to do so, she would be breaking the rules.
Granted, she had much more latitude to break those rules than most, but she wasn’t totally immune to them, either. And since there was absolutely no way he could know she would be willing to break these rules for him, his disinterest in his own fate made her wonder about him all over again. Who the hell was this man, really? How did he know so much?
Why Golunsky?
“The birthmark, comrade?” she said, even as she thought it. “How did you come to know me so well? I do not remember making your acquaintance before.”
Even as the words left her lips, she wondered why she hadn’t thought to ask that question before. Really, it should have been the first thing out of her lips when they’d met on either side of those iron bars. It definitely should have come up before now––and definitely before she brought him into her home and gave him a clean towel and new clothes to wear.
He could be stalking her. Or hell, he really could be working for Uri.
But she didn’t believe either of those things, which only frustrated her more.
She had zero reasons to trust him, yet she did. She had zero reasons to keep him here with her, yet she already knew she wanted to. More than wanted to––she’d already more than half-decided to do it. He intrigued her, but he also struck her as an inherently trustworthy person, and the second part frightened her much more than the first.
She couldn’t defend any of those beliefs or decisions logically, yet they felt absolutely right and true. Something about the simplicity of that unnerved her... perhaps because it was so utterly foreign to her. Living in the Soviet Union made everyone paranoid. It was just one of those truths no one bothered to comment on, other than in jest.
They had not been raised in an environment where trust was rewarded.
Despite that, she could not make herself believe that he might hurt her. She could not make herself believe he would ever cause an innocent person deliberate harm. She knew that, without having any possible way of knowing it. He would never harm anyone unless it was for the greater good, no matter what they did to him.
He really did feel like some kind of protector, or guardian.
Worse, she already felt responsible for him.
“How do you know my body, comrade?” she said, her voice more pointed.
“I saw it. As an angel.”
“Your duties in catching Golunsky required you to see me naked?”
She saw a faint tension develop between his eyebrows. From his face, she wondered if the question had occurred to him before.
“No,” he said finally, looking at her. “I liked you.”
“You liked me?”
“Yes.” He paused. For a second he looked as if he might elaborate on that.
He didn’t.
“...I got close to you initially because of Golunsky,” he said instead, averting his gaze as he shifted the topic smoothly. “Later, I realized you were one of the few connected to this case who might be able to help me. I was concerned when I felt you decide no political motive was likely... I thought it might cause you to drop the case. I also feared it might cause the police to stop looking. And to stop preparing for additional incidents.”
Meeting her gaze again, he shrugged.
“...Although, you are right, of course. There is no political motive. Not the way your government would define it. The demon’s goals center more around destabilization, panic, delusion, paranoia. He would want you to harm yourselves... to spread fear and aggression so that you would attack your own kind. There is much more suffering when humans are burdened with the guilt of causing death, in addition to the rest. And as for why now...”
His gray eyes turned a shade darker.
“...Change is coming, Ilana. To Russia. To the world.”
She paused the motion of her arm and hand, halting where she’d been about to take a sip of her coffee. Finishing the gesture, she grimaced when she realized it was stone cold. Standing, she walked to the sink and dumped what was left in her mug. Rinsing it out with water, she contemplated making more, then decided it could wait.
Leaning her hands on the porcelain sink, she didn’t look back when she spoke.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Change is coming. We have seen it. It could be disrupted of course... there is always free will, and disruption is always possible. But change is very likely... and it is likely to happen soon. Within the next decade, which in angelic time is practically now.”
“But what change? What are you speaking of?”
“Russia will once more open its doors.”
She turned, staring at him. “Words like that could get you in trouble, comrade.”
“They are not a threat. Simply the truth.”
“How could you possibly know that?” She bit her lip. “And why would you say such a thing to me, knowing what I am?”
Raguel leaned back in his chair. His expression remained serene, even reassuring.
“I wish only for the happiness of your people, Ilana.” His voice and eyes held so much sincerity she could only stare at him. “The world changes. Angels do not do this... your people do. Time. Fate. Karma... whatever you wish to call it. We try to help when these things come, but we do not create them, any more than w
e create time itself. We call these things ‘windows,’ or ‘nodes’ in the timeline. A big one is coming. We have all seen it. It is why so many of us are down here right now. It is why Lahash is here, too.”
She thought about his words.
Again, she felt much more behind them than she could articulate clearly to herself.
“You think this demon... what? Will actually destroy Mother Russia?”
Raguel shook his head. “I think it will try to plunge Russia back into darkness and fear if it could. I think it would prevent this change if it could––create a backlash that returns Russia to an age of repression. It has been trying already, both here and across the ocean. My brethren have been working with the leaders in the United States, trying to calm the more warlike rhetoric, to keep things from escalating more. But The Fallen have people there, too...”
“How?” She clutched the sink harder. “What would these ‘Fallen’ do?”
Raguel shrugged, his eyes untouched by her anger. “Cause war, perhaps? A security clamp-down on your own population? Both?”
“The Motherland must do what it must to protect itself!”
Raguel sighed. “You would not want this, Ilana.” His voice grew heartbreakingly gentle. “Do you really wish to see the work-camps full of artists and scholars once more? Its brightest thinkers sent to work camps like Stalin’s gulag simply for threatening a leadership made up of power-hungry bullies and those afraid of the future?”
He continued to hold her gaze, his gray eyes calm.
“The next generations of Russia are meant to work at the forefront of science and technology,” he said, still gentle. “Create great art... compete on all of the stages of the world, in every field. More than that, they are meant to join the rest of the world... to live and breathe in the light of day. Travel freely. Learn about other cultures, other ways of living. Usher in a new world with the rest of your species.”
Still watching her, he paused, resting his hands on the top of the table.
Shadow WIngs (Skeleton Key) Page 7