by Titus, Rose
“...And even up until the early nineteen hundreds the temple was tended to, the ceremony took place, but only perhaps once a year, or every other year. The people of the village went faithfully to the stone church which replaced the little wooden chapel. But still, as people of the land, they always remembered. The village grew to a fairly decent population, and people worked together, intermarried, with no need to fear one another.”
“You makin’ this up?” Jimmy interrupted, “’Cause if you are—”
“No, now shut up. Because this little village isn’t there anymore.”
“How come?” Rufus finally spoke up.
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “How come it ain’t there anymore?”
“Boys, let him finish.” Laura commanded. She was finally learning to take charge, and Rick was proud of her.
“I was just getting to that, if you would all let me. Trouble came one day, and a war started. There was chaos and anarchy, a revolution. Much as the peasants hated the Czar, they loved their land and their homes, and their way of life. The Cossacks came one night, and, almost a thousand years later, the people were burnt out of their homes again.”
“What’d they do then?”
“Well, most people packed up and headed for America. Livestock was brought aboard the ship, to prevent starvation, of course. Some of them hid jewelry in their clothing as they went through customs, so they would be able to live well. But they left everything else behind. Somewhere, away deep in the dark forest, is an ancient cave with a stone table, perhaps it is still stained with ancient blood. But here we are today. We are descended from Pavel and Yelena’s three children, from Mikhail and Svetlana’s two daughters, from the sons of Dmitri and Natasha.”
“Like, are you makin’ this stuff up, Rick?”
“No, Jimmy. And one day if I am ever able to travel that far, I shall go and find that ancient cave for myself.”
“Bet it would make a way cool movie.”
Martin wandered in off the street, and Leon greeted him. “Leon, listen, I’m here to see Irina. Again. To apologize this time, if she’ll see me.”
“Yeah, sure, let me call upstairs.”
Once again he was escorted to the top floor.
Martin gazed out through the window, looking down at the cars passing on the street. “I had to come back, Irina, to say I was very wrong.” He turned to look at her.
She sat silently at her desk, slicing mail open.
“That’s quite a letter opener you’ve got.” He could not help noticing the ornate silver dagger she held in her delicate hand.
“Yes, it came over with us, from the old country.”
“Must be an antique.” Everything in her private quarters, it seemed, was antique, and probably valuable.
“It is, yes, it is very old. It has been in the family a long time,” and she did not comment on it further. “So, I hear you are leaving the police force?”
He came closer to her desk and sat down. “Word gets around fast, huh? No, not yet. But I am thinking about it. Thinking of starting my own business, become a private investigator. I’m just tired of the lies, the covering up, the politics. I wanted all my life to just be a good cop, and for years I was working with a murderer. It all drove me to drink. The truth will never be told, not officially. It will only be whispered on the streets. Looks like too many people in high places are involved. They truly did want the street trash out of town. It’s when things got messy, that’s when people noticed. And only then did people care. People only cared when the tourists started to get scared off, or when there was a mess left behind that never got cleaned up. Maybe they didn’t even pay him to do his work, I think. He just enjoyed doing it, so they let him. Maybe they even put me on the case because they knew I’d never figure it out. I’m getting out of it, can’t deal with it no more.”
“Well, Martin,” she smiled briefly, “As a businesswoman with many concerns, I am sure we shall someday have need of a good private detective. You will be hearing from us again, I’m sure.”
He said goodbye to Leon and wandered out the door into the cool dusk, hoping that the future ahead would be better than the past had been. He walked on, wondering what else the night would show him.
“Hey man, got any change?”
“Huh? What you say—” The guy was tall, muscular, with long blond hair. He did not look like the typical piece of street filth. His leather jacket and blue jeans were almost new, and he appeared clean. “What’s up?” For once, Martin decided to try and not make instant assumptions.
“Got any money?”
And that was it. “Get lost and get a job.”
“Don’t be like that. I had a job. I’m an out of work actor. My manager took up with some airhead fortune teller and left town with all the money he was gonna pay me. I’m left out on the street. It ain’t fair, and I gotta eat.”
Martin looked at him more closely. He seemed familiar somehow. Had he seen him somewhere before? No. It couldn’t be? “Get lost, Zontar.”
“You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you like, Keisha,” Lina said. Her husband shot her a cold look and she ignored him.
“Of course we loved having you and Tirrell,” he finally said, and he handed her suitcase over to her.
“Thank you, both of you. But I was so shocked at what I saw today when I drove by the house, I’m nearly speechless.” The damage had been repaired, almost completely. She sadly drove by to collect mail at her destroyed home, only to see a group of people making a nonprofessional attempt to clean the place up, rid the walls of graffiti, and repair the damage. When neighbors saw what had happened to the small house, they organized to do something about it. “I just can’t abandon the place after this. With such wonderful people in the neighborhood, I have to go back. And I’m going to have a party to thank everyone for helping out, and you’re both invited. Finally, Tirrell and I can have a real home, with a yard and trees and—”
“And a dog?” he demanded, “Can I finally have a dog?”
“Tirrell, will you please wait until we get there!”
“Now wait a minute Keisha.” Lina stopped her from going out the door. “Alex has something for you and Tirrell.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to—”
Alex went away briefly and then emerged from the room he shared with his wife, carrying a small brown and white puppy; he handed it to Tirrell. “Here you go.”
The boy held the puppy close and smiled.
About the Author
Rose Titus works two jobs to support her writing habit. She exists somewhere in cold, dreary New England, with two manipulative cats and a very out-of-date Macintosh with which she creates horror and fantasy fiction. She also has a restored classic car to ride around in while in search of adventure.
For travel she has stayed the night in an allegedly haunted castle, has taken a boat ride on Loch Ness, and has visited the fabled Bermuda Triangle without getting lost.
Her work has previously appeared in Lost Worlds, Lynx Eye, Bog Gob, Mausoleum, Midnight Times, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, The Bugle, Weird Terrain, Descend, Wicked Wheels, The Dead River Review, and other literary magazines.
When she’s not writing, working, volunteering to help the needy, or messing around with her old Buick, she waits by her mailbox for the next issue of Fortean Times to arrive.