Text snippet from the book

   It was the new millennium, and the world had changed. So had Ludmilla. She had started to swim each day to get over her recently induced fear of the water. She hadn’t had that fear before, nor had she forgotten how she had acquired that apprehension. It had been five years since Vladimir’s death, and at times, those visions seemed like yesterday’s memories. 

     Her wet hands glided up onto the warm, pitted concrete above her, and pushing down with her arms, she drew her waif like body out of the pool in one continuous, flowing motion. She leaned over in her one-piece suit, allowing her dark, curly hair fall all around her head. Then she stood up.

Ludmilla ran her hands through her hair, letting the locks fall back over her shoulders. She walked over to the single patio chair, sitting down, the rubber straps reminding her of the time when she had placed it next to the plastic table and umbrella with the greatest of care.

She smiled in retrospect, looking up, noting the wet trail that had been left on the concrete. The tracks were vaguely familiar.

Size six, to be precise.

That was when it happened.

The loud backfire of an un-muffled, rusted antique pierced the serenity of the moment as it passed by on the roadway. A hot flash of nervous energy enveloped her, followed by a wave of ice-cold fear that swept across her being, successfully paralyzing her right where she sat.

The straps on the poolside chair had turned suddenly cold, her mind forcing her to view the horrific images of the past as they flew by in rapid-fire succession. Eyes that had been relaxed were now cast in dread.

She still couldn’t shake the vision, even after so much time had elapsed since the incident had taken place.

It was those eyes, staring out at nothing, and that face-

Goose pimples formed along the length of her arms as the horrible memories shoved aside any semblance of peacefulness. She leaned forward, covering her face with her hands in a feeble attempt to escape. Her heart sank within her, as she knew the routine all too well.

Damn, it was happening again-

Behind closed eyes, Ludmilla could see herself in that very same place, listening as the three men talked amongst themselves, the conversation not having changed over time. She steeled herself for the upcoming onslaught. The scar had formed inside her mind, as Valeri had predicted, and was now triggered by any unexpected ordeal.

It was familiar, terrifying, and perversely comforting all at the same time, somewhat like a syringe being prepared in a doctor’s office for an injection.

The source of the trauma took over.

It was as if Vladimir had come back to life, and was right there in front of her. She could feel the wind rustling through the trees, mocking her, as well as the sound of the river. Even the small, discarded twigs that lay all around her feet were intent on trying to persuade her that this illusion was indeed real.

Her stomach rolled in rebellion.

The lump in her throat belied that her body hadn’t entirely bought into the delusion.

The images continued.

Anna had meandered over, sitting down next to her. Ludmilla looked on, as she saw herself reaching out, taking the ice-cold beer from her hand. Anna’s smile was genuine, and she turned to converse with the men sitting across from her.

She had that gift.

Ludmilla’s body fought against the spell of the illusion being cast, as she could feel her pores opening, the scent of fear now being applied in a thin coating along the entire length of her body.

She looked on, helpless, as she watched her index finger slide underneath the aluminum tab, popping it open. At the time, the beer had been incredibly refreshing, the first swallow satisfying that craving she felt. Music was wafting past; the techno beat in conflict with the surroundings.

The wiles of nature were attempting to smother the cacophony with a symphony of its own, aware that victory would be attained via attrition.

That would come later.

Now it simply added to the tension of the moment.

She saw Anna talking to the three men, feeling that prickling sensation of envy that ate at her. Ludmilla understood instinctively that she was not a beautiful woman by any stretch of the imagination, and Anna’s popularity irked her deep down.

But she was her friend.

The illusion had been cast so well, catching every last detail magnificently.

Vladimir had stood up across from her, and was now waiting for her reaction. He had asked her something, and was waiting for an answer, his look intent, eyes opened wide. She hadn’t heard him the first time, and waited for him to repeat his request.

He asked her if she wanted anything, the drunken slur prevalent. She looked up; her eyes met his reddening orbs. Ludmilla hadn’t known it then, but it was the last living impression she would have of the man.

No, I’m fine-

She held her beer can up for him to see; implying that she had a full container in her possession. She remembered her thoughts clearly from that moment, as they haunted her now.

Why is a man like this always getting so drunk? Can’t he see what’s around him? What an idiot-

The cynicism still burned within her, its memory painful. She had always known that it was her own lack of self-esteem that had brought forth the catty responses she was recalling. It didn’t matter.

He could no longer reply.

Vladimir had started to make his way over to the cooler, stumbling as he took great care to place one foot in front of the other, not wanting to lose his balance and draw any undue attention to himself.

If he had only known what awaited him.

Anna was fully engaged in a conversation with the other two men, leaving Ludmilla sitting there, half-listening, and appreciating her surroundings.

The woman was asking the men why they never went swimming in the river. Both Anna and Ludmilla inherently knew that the three men preferred to drink instead of swim. Anna had wanted to hear one of them admit it, at least once in this lifetime.

She was wasting her breath.

Ludmilla rolled her eyes as Svetlana edged closer to the man to her right, asking for his opinion on the matter, her intent a little too obvious.

You idiot. Can’t you tell they come here to get drunk? Besides, do you think that they’d listen? I mean, what do you expect? They’re men-

The woman’s eyes were suddenly drawn over in the direction of the cooler in response to some internal urge that she couldn’t explain.

What was taking him so long-?

It was taking Vladimir far too long a time to make his way back from the cooler. She looked over and saw him as he lay on his back; arms spread wide. She smiled, thinking that the alcohol had finally overcome his physical defenses.

Nothing in her life could have prepared her for what she would experience next.

The young woman stood up, and walked over towards him. She had wandered up to within three meters of where Vladimir lay, when it struck a dark chord within her. Something about the scene before her was quite unnerving, her brain scrambling desperately to put a finger on its cause.

It wasn’t normal.

There had to be something wrong.

What was it-?

Her mind struggled with the only answer that seemed to make logical sense.

That was when she saw it.

It was the small red hole between his eyebrows that had triggered the internal reaction. She now realized the implication of what that meant. Vladimir had ceased to exist.

What the-

The harsh reality slammed into her being with the force of an avalanche, obliterating the naiveté that existed there.

Her breath froze within her.

Beneath Vladimir’s head, peering out as if from under the protection of its shell, was a puddle of red liquid. This realization, in combination with the blank stare soaring off into the heavens proved to be too much for her young mind to take in.

Instinct was about to take over.

Her right hand released its grip on the aluminum container held within it. The scream cut through the silence, covering the sound of the aluminum container hitting the ground next to her. 

It was beyond her comprehension.

The man on the ground was dead.

Anna turned around, pulled from her conversation by the intensity of the scream. She saw her petrified friend. Ludmilla’s expression was chiseled into the features of her face, exuding the essence of fear.

True fear.