Chapter 16
Nala emerged from the Russian grocery store with a bag laden with fresh goods and cans written in a language she never bothered to learn. When she entered half an hour earlier carrying a list of ingredients from her new cookbook, the one clerk on duty had been more than happy to load Nala’s basket up. When he asked, in his thick but friendly accent, what Nala was cooking, she was almost sheepish to admit to near-peasant staples her mother cooked every week. Then Nala remembered that this wasn’t Vincent’s world of fancy eating and exorbitant delicacies. This was the real stuff.
Her time at the grocer’s would’ve passed by otherwise non-eventfully, but then the clerk asked where Nala was from and who her parents were. Since the Nazarovs had lived in this exact area nearly twenty years ago, the clerk came to the edge of tears as he said, “Nala! It’s you?” Apparently she had attended kindergarten with the man’s daughter.
The sun was bright and full for the first time in days. Nala folded up her umbrella while carrying her bag with the other hand. She made it to the bus stop in time, meaning she should be home before the hour was up. Plenty of time to start cooking.
I’ll show him how good the food I eat can be. Nala mentioned offhandedly that morning that she would cook Vincent a traditional Russian dinner. He stood in front of his dresser, fixing his cuffs and pulling on a tie to wear to a big meeting with his new client. My hardworking man. Nala smiled to think it.
It should have scared her how much like her mother she was suddenly becoming. The Nala of six months ago would have never deigned to prepare a meal for a man after a hard day at work. Yet as her relationship with Vincent deepened, she realized that it wasn’t about being a good domokhozyayka, but doing what she could to contribute to the household Vincent so graciously let her join. Nala wasn’t going to make a habit out of cooking for them, but once in a while it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Just bought a ton of food ;)” she texted Vincent. “Someone’s getting spoiled with Russian food tonight.”
“Should I be scared?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure you should be working.”
“I just got off work. I’m going to be home early. You there?”
“Not quite. I’m on the bus crossing the bridge right now. You?”
“Just pulling onto Burnside.”
“OMG, stop texting while you drive!”
“I’m at a very long light.”
“Dumbass!”
“You’re cool too.”
Nala didn’t hear from him again until she stepped off the bus and began the few block trek to Vincent’s loft. I guess it’s my home too… It was still a strange thing to think. Now that they had established themselves as a couple, Vincent no longer brought up buying Nala an apartment. They went on their merry way, assuming that for now they would simply live together and hope for the best. My mother would be so scandalized. Good.
Her phone buzzed as she turned the corner onto their street. The weight of the shopping bag was starting to get to her, but Nala found the ability to pull out her phone.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
She looked up, seeing Vincent’s black car on the other end of the street. Nala waved before putting her phone away and hurrying her steps. If she timed it right, she could make it as he parked. Then he could help me haul these groceries upstairs! His true job! Put those muscles to perfect use!
Alas, he made it before her, although he remained seated in his car, stuck on the phone. Nala waved, made a face unbecoming of a young lady, and started the onerous climb up the stairs. The bag was heavy enough to pull her down on one side, so she waddled more than walked.
She put the bag down on the landing, fishing for the key in her pocket. Vincent hadn’t bothered to get the locks changed yet, but Nala did have a new key to make up for the one she lost somewhere along the way.
The door opened, light spilling into the stuffy loft. Nala kicked rather than pulled the heavy bag of groceries inside. Behind her, she heard Vincent’s car door open. As Nala walked inside, she wondered if she should get started with the cooking right now, or cook something else with her sexy boyfriend. If I could do both at the same time, I totally would!
Yet Nala didn’t have the chance to think about doing both at the same time, or the logistics therein. Her eyes blinked, adjusting to the shadows of the large, open space, although a huge stream of sunlight poured through the windows. The black leather couches were illuminated, heating up, and the glass coffee table…
And the glass coffee table…
Broken, the shards sprinkled across the throw rug beneath.
Nala stared in disbelief, her breath, her voice caught in her throat as her eyes traveled from the surprising mess to the body sprawled between both couches.
Blond. Fair. A pretty red sundress frayed at the hems and torn wherever glass shards had pierced it. Some parts of the dress were darker than others. It took daft Nala too many seconds to realize it was blood.
It took her even longer to realize who it was.
“Robin!” she screamed, running to her friend’s body, shaking her, slapping her face, staring into half-dead eyes that once shone so brightly. Nala’s cries of alarm echoed through the loft, as if she were the one fending off an attacker in a strange home.
The front door flew open. Vincent, in his suit and tie, rushed in to the harrowing sounds of Nala’s voice. He saw her, then Robin, his strength shoving Nala out of the way as he immediately knelt down and checked for a pulse.
“She’s alive! Call 911!”
Nala stood there, aghast.
“I said call 911!”
The world slowed. Nala stumbled over the couch behind her, patting her sweatshirt and looking for her phone. What was happening? Why was Robin there? Like this?
Nala was about to call for an ambulance when she looked down at her feet, a piece of paper sticking out from beneath her shoe.
Against her better judgment, she picked it up before doing anything else, no matter how much Vincent yelled at her.
Your first warning.
Miss Nala Nazarov
Hopefully this birdie beauty gets along with Tasha
As well as she got along with you
I never got to hear either of them scream but
Desirée screamed. A lot.
I wonder.
Can you scream as beautifully as she did?
A bird of prey always lives for the thrill of the kill
Run away, little Nightingale
Run away so I can hunt you down
Nala fell against the couch, Vincent still shouting, the sun still shining, and Robin still dying.
Somewhere, in some corner of time, Desirée’s screams echoed, and Tasha fell asleep, never to awaken again.