The Sin Collector

MASHA

Masha woke up when the front door slammed. She stayed in bed for a minute, listening. Not a sound. Kenty must have left for a meeting with a client, or maybe he’d gone to buy more groceries to cook for her, try to make amends. Masha wasn’t mad at him anymore. And she realized now that she hadn’t been convinced, not really, that the killer was as religious as all that. It was more likely, she thought as she got dressed, that he was just using religion as a cover. The idea of Heavenly Jerusalem, coupled with the list of Torments, gave him a precise pattern to work with. A path he could follow while doing just what his heart desired. And speaking of hearts…

Masha called her mother’s cell phone, but landed in her voice mail. She was probably still sleeping.

Masha walked to the kitchen and poured herself some juice. She really was feeling better, here in Kenty’s apartment. She decided she would not think about her stepfather. She would not think about the Sin Collector. She would think about those things tomorrow, and she was sure she’d have to keep thinking about them for a good long while. But today? Today she would try to read a book, maybe one from Kenty’s collection. Nothing too serious, though, just something from when they were kids. Maybe a book from that Adventure Stories series. She had seen some of those in the study. Or Sir Walter Scott, or Thomas Mayne Reid. Masha leaned over the couch, one hand holding her glass of juice, the other hand running over the familiar book spines. Aha! Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island. Perfect! Masha hooked the little volume with one fingernail, and it slid off the shelf and into her waiting hand.

In the gap where The Mysterious Island had been, she could see the dark wood of the book case, and also something white. An envelope? Masha frowned. Was Kenty hiding money in his bookshelf? That didn’t seem like the kind of thing he would do. So what was it? Masha wavered. She downed the rest of her juice and tossed the book onto the sofa. Still frowning, she reached for the envelope, and carefully slid it out from between the books. For a second, Masha stopped, ashamed of herself. The envelope was obviously supposed to be hidden away from prying eyes. But her curiosity won out. Kenty had already let her in on one huge secret, so, Masha reasoned, it made sense to check, just to make sure he wasn’t hiding some other nasty surprise, right? She’d just take a quick look, she told herself, that was all. The envelope was not sealed.

Inside, there were photographs. But these weren’t photos of both of them together, from the days Kenty and Masha made the rounds of youth festivals and parties. These pictures—black-and-white, glossy—were of Masha alone. Every single one of them.

After seeing the first one, she gasped and dumped out the rest. There was one shot of Masha leaving home in the morning, walking, laughing carelessly, with one of the boys from college who used to have a crush on her. There she was drinking champagne with her mother at a premiere at the Bolshoi. There was Katya, and other friends of hers, too. What was this? You could track her whole life through these pictures! School, her family, her friends, different events… Innokenty had been following her! For a long time, too. Masha remembered very clearly that outing to the Bolshoi five years ago, because her mother had forced her to wear a low-cut, floor-length dress. Innokenty had not been there with them. Or apparently he had been, but she hadn’t seen him. Was he hiding behind a column or something, focusing on her through the lens of his camera? Masha looked with horror at all these snapshots from her life, spread all around her. Why had he done this? Why had he spied on her?

Masha swallowed nervously and stood up, brushing the pictures off her like poisonous insects crawling up her legs. She needed to get out of here, and now. She dashed into the hallway, where the cow-eyed faces of the old icons watched her from the white walls. Shaking all over, she struggled to put on her shoes. For God’s sake, how could she have ever felt safe here? There was nowhere in this city where she could feel safe anymore! And she didn’t think there was a single person she could trust, either. One thought nearly made her physically ill. She would have to go back to the empty apartment she had deserted, just a few hours before, where everything reminded her of her father and stepfather, and where—she knew for sure now—the killer had certainly set foot. Masha pushed open the heavy front door with clammy hands, and ran out into the echoing stairwell.

Suddenly Masha heard movement on the stairs below. The measured, confident step of a tall man, taking two stairs at a time. Innokenty. She scurried in the other direction and walked one flight up, and stood concealed behind the grating of the elevator shaft, watching him unlock the door.

“Masha?” he called, his voice worried.

The door closed behind him, and Masha flew like a bird down the stairs, rushing headlong to confront her own solitude.