Too old to care

Chapter 4: Finding One’s Bearings

The sun was rising on the horizon, casting its golden light across the silent hills through the window. 

Lyutsifer set his steaming cup of tea down on his desk, his eyes ringed with dark circles fixed on his computer screen. It had been a short night; his sleep haunted by nightmares of his past. Heracles. Madeleine’s blonde hair glinting in the sun as she looked at him with disgust. The missiles. The cold. The loneliness.

A movement drew his attention to the screen. The CCTV feed from the guest room, where Line had been moved the previous day following their ‘little discussion’. Lying on the huge futon taking pride of place in the centre of the room, she had woken up, observing the pile of clothes and the food left beside the bed. 

It had been agreed that Line would be monitored but not restricted. It was the only way to truly understand what she wanted… to study her… His words still echoed in Lyutsifer’s mind.

It’s you… 

Why did she think he’d invited her to join the Heracles project on the island? 

The snow had started to fall again, and Line had dragged herself out of bed. She looked around before heading over to the window to watch the snowflakes dancing. Was she looking for a way out? Lyutsifer tensed, ready to intervene.

The young woman remained like that for several long minutes, motionless, watching the snow fall. Lyutsifer raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of tea. Why wasn’t she looking for a way out? 

She moved again, picking up the tray of food and tea left for her, returning to face the window and settling into one of the armchairs beside the fountain. Line had leaned over to sniff a small bowl of rice and picked up the chopsticks provided. Her grip was clumsy, forcing her to try again several times before she could take a small bite, which she savoured. Her tray was emptying, but she hadn’t touched the teapot.

“Interesting…”, muttered Lyutsifer as he took out a notebook and began to scribble in it. 

His notes were scrawled in a hurry, his gaze darting back and forth between the paper and the screen. She wasn’t trying to escape, yet she remained wary. Capable of spotting sedatives in a drink, did she know she was being watched?

He looked up at the screen and froze. She was staring straight into the camera. Then she stood up, walked over to the bed where she picked up the pile of clothes left for her, and stepped out of the frame to go into the bathroom. Lyutsifer had refused to install cameras in the bathroom, despite Mikhail’s protests; Mikhail was of the opinion that they should not let the young woman out of their sight. 

The clock struck ten. Lyutsifer rose from his desk to go to the laboratory, as he did every morning to ensure his staff were working properly. On his desk, he left his notebook: 

12 November:  Not looking for a way out  Didn’t drink any tea Watching the snow Did she look at the camera?

The hours ticked by, the snow fell. Lyutsifer had asked for all non-essential meetings to be cancelled so that he could continue observing Line.

13 November:  Still watching the snow She hasn’t tried to get our attention Regularly looks at the camera for several minutes She likes the fountain Seems prone to nightmares

At three o’clock in the morning, Lyutsifer switched off his alarm, slipped on a dressing gown and made his way to his desk. His notes were scattered amongst the files, screenshots of chats and emails… The screen was still on. He ran a hand over his face, sat down at his desk to skim through his notes, before fixing his gaze on the screen once more.

Line was lying on the bed, clearly restless. She tossed and turned, over and over, before waking with a start. She ran a hand through her hair and stayed like that for a long while. Then she got out of bed and stood up; the teapot was still there, cold since that morning. She hadn’t touched it all day, no doubt for fear of being sedated. She poured herself a cup, sat down in front of the fountain and drank. 

14 November:  seems to be suffering from sleep problems smiled when she found the lilacs after going to the bathroom tidied the bedroom moved the futon closer to the window doesn’t like carrots Why is she always looking at the snow?

“Boss.”

Mihkail’s voice snapped Lyutsifer out of his thoughts; he set down his pen, clearly taken aback. 

“We can’t just sit back and do nothing. You’ve cancelled several important appointments; the staff are wondering why you’re not doing your rounds. You’re hardly sleeping at all,” stated the bodyguard in a monotone voice. “We need to do something about her.”

“I know. I know, Mikhail, but I need to understand. I need to understand how she knows about Heracles, how she got here… Every minute spent on anything else might be bringing

us closer to our downfall,” replied Lyutsifer, running a hand over his face. “I need to come up with an idea. Have you found any further information about her or what she told us?”

“Nothing so far. It’s as if she’d never existed.”

Lyutsifer rose from his seat, pointing at the screen, where Line was still standing at the window watching the snow.

“We need to understand what this woman wants. Get back to work; find me any information you can about her. Anything. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Mikhail opened his mouth, then closed it again, before nodding and leaving the room. Lyutsifer seemed… obsessed. All his requests, all his orders… He had only one word on his lips: Line.

The bedroom door opened silently. His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. He stopped, his gaze fixed on Line’s silhouette as she stood with her back to him. 

“Why aren’t you trying to escape?”

Line didn’t move, didn’t turn round. Her gaze remained fixed on the snow.

“To go where?”

Her answer was obvious, predictable. She couldn’t really escape from the fortress that was this island. She would be dead the moment she set foot on a ship, and even if she managed to escape, she would probably die at sea. So why did that answer bother him so much? Why had his heart clenched? 

He began to watch the snow, moving closer to the window to stand beside Line. With his hands behind his back, he looked pensive.

“You’re a prisoner. I didn’t expect so little resistance from you.”

“You mentioned that recruitment for the project would be ruthless. My life was already a prison before; at least here I have a purpose.”

Silence fell once more. There was something peaceful about the snow; perhaps that was why she was looking at it.

His eyes focusing on the water he blowed steam away and sipped careful on the beverage.

Soon he will go back into the house to prepare breakfast for his love, but for now he enjoyed the solitude of the moment.

The sunrise coloured the cloud hanging sky in warmth, while the surrounding became brighter.

For a second he saw himself on the lake, cracking ice under his boots. He blinked the memory away. This was another time, another man. He had grown since then. His love helped him with that.

He smiled to himself. This was one of the moment he felt happy. Him with his secret little family. A place to call home. The smell of the lake. Sunshine on his skin. The sweet anticipation for a morning kiss.

He turned around and went with soft step back to the house.

It had changed too.

Walking in he relished in the warm colours, candle white and maple wood.

He stopped in his steps to look hesitating into the round wall mirror that hung in the floor.

His face greeted him, familiar, but also changed. The morning light seemed to change his skin. His scars a fine net. The former hollow cheeks filled. His cheekbone not more this sharp. He already got some colour.

He went closer and leaned forward. Are there even freckles?

He smirked amused. He could not remember when he saw freckles on his nose. Seemed a lifetime.

He turned to the kitchen, an half open space, sharing the living area. Setting his mug aside. Taking another. Fingerpainting from a pre-schooler as decor. Filing it with coffee. No suger, but Creme. The Colour of almond.

As silent as possible he made his way to the bedroom, holding the coffee mug in both hands. On his way he throw a glance up the stairs. There was no sound coming. His little doll was still asleep.

He entered chateaus the bedroom, walking careful to the bed to softly place the mug on the bedside cabinet. Stepped back, while his eyes get drawn to the bed.

His love rested there. Deep asleep the bedsheets wrapped chaoticly around her limps. The light of the sun painted her skin colden. A sleeping goddess between white silk.

He observed. Waited. Until he saw her nostrils widen. The coffee worked. As alway. Every morning.

Safin smiled as he watched his love slowly waking up by the scent of her favourite morning drink.

She lifted her head, wild wheat morning hair and sleep sticky eyes. Smiling drowsily she greeted him.

“Lyutsifer” A croaked voice, alas still honey to his heart.

“Good morning, my love.”

'Schroedingers Box' rushed through Madeleine's mind. She had to stop a giggle. Instead she found some encouraging words.

“Sometimes objects can be more evocative than memories...”

She held the box for a moment in her hand before placing it on her lap. It was light. The dark wood soothing to the eyes. And yet - an alarm bell suddenly rang in the back of her head.

She fiddled with the lid, eventually lifting it aside... and stopped breathing. The nightmare of her childhood - this object - brought all the memories back.

She was ten years old again.

Her mother, bleeding on the sofa. Cigarette smell in the air.

The frozen air around her as she drew the body out of the house

The broken face, lifting up, like a ghoul out of a grave.

She sat there, staring at the white mask, and the icy water surrounded her again.

His voice was dark as a shadow, yet pierced her ear.

“I never forgot your eyes under the ice. They needed me. They still need me. I'm rather.. taken by them.”

His words sunk in. She understood the implication. The icy lake water she meant to feel on her skin changed to heat.

Taking a deep breath, she swallowed down the sob. Blinked rapidly the tears away.

She hadn't yield as a child. She will not yield now.

Anger, ice cubes in her stomach.

Rage, bile in her mouth.

Wrath in her mind.

She did look at him.

'Safin. His name was Lyutsifer Safin. A wounded child, trying to kill another child. Failing.'

How had she not recognized him? His skin cleaner now, his voice not as croaked. Still. How could she been so lazy? After all her father had taught her?

Silently, she closed the box again, her eyes on his scarred face.

Even so silently she handed the box back to him.

His dark eyes questioning her.

She rose from her chair - and slapped him hard across the face.

The clash echoed loud in her office. His eyes wide open in shock. Her hand was burning.

He didn't said a word. Probably wondering if he should kill her right here and now.

It doesn't matter to Madeleine.

“How dare you?”, she hissed. “How DARE you!?”

He remained still. Eventually he faced her again. In his eyes now understanding.

"THAT! Was such an arsehole move!", the frightened child spoke from inside her mind.

Lyutsifer nodded. His expression soften.

“I'm sorry.”, he whispered. And then: “Did you have some ice for me?”

Madeleine paused, unsure if he used exactly this moment to through a pun out. She saw her handprint on his cheek.

“I think I have a icepack in my office fridge.”

She had indeed.

A moment later she sad aside him, while he held a blue freezer box at his face.

After a while they started to talk. Like adults.