Her eyes searched his face for the sincerity behind the promise, and whatever she found there must have satisfied her because the tension in her shoulders eased.
"Let's see what the doctor says when he comes to check on me."
Dimitri had forgotten about the doctor's scheduled visit.
"I'm sure he will confirm what I'm saying. You shouldn't allow anything to happen to this hand."
He unwrapped the plastic, checked the bandage for moisture, and was satisfied to find it just as dry as it had been before they entered the shower.
Once they were both dressed, Dimitri retrieved one of the surgical masks from the box on the shelf by the door. He held it up, looped the elastic bands over his ears, and adjusted the fit over his nose and mouth.
"How do I look?"
"Like a doctor or a guy with a cold," Mattie said approvingly. "In either case, it's a very human look."
"I should probably start coughing before we get downstairs."
"Why? Petrov knows what's going on, and he's the only one there."
He shrugged. "Practice. I need to make it sound natural."
"Right. Don't do the dramatic movie cough. It needs to be the annoying, persistent, I-can't-shake-this-thing cough."
He tried a cough. It came out sounding like a small dog with something stuck in its throat.
Mattie winced. "That was even worse than the movie. Try again. From the chest."
He tried again. Better. The second attempt had the scratchy, reluctant quality of a genuine respiratory irritation.
"That's more like it. Throw in a sniffle every few minutes. Blow your nose occasionally. And don't forget to decline food and drink in front of anyone other than Petrov and me. The excuse is that sick people don't have appetites, and the truth is that you can't allow anyone to see your mouth."
"You're enjoying this."
"I'm directing your performance." She smiled. "I always wanted to make movies."
"You did? You never told me."
"It was a silly dream when I was still a kid. Before the fire. I wanted to study film."
His heart ached for her broken dreams.
"When we get out of here, you will go to film school, and that's a promise."
She smiled at him, but it was the kind of smile that implied she knew he meant well but could never deliver on his promise.
He would prove her wrong. With his and Petrov's expertise and Dave's help, they could make a lot of money once they were free, enough to pay for Mattie's tuition.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, it was a little strange not to be greeted by Russian folk music. Not that Dimitri was sorry that it was gone, but the quiet was bothersome. Petrov was at his workstation, setting up an elaborate arrangement of glassware for fractional distillation.
He glanced up when they entered, and his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "What's with the mask?"
"I woke up with a cold." Dimitri coughed, deploying the chest-rattling version that Mattie had approved. "Sore throat, congestion. I don't want to give it to you or Mattie."
Petrov's expression made her chuckle.
"You can't get colds," he said.
"I know that. You know that. Nobody else does." Dimitri pulled down the mask just enough for Petrov to see the gap where his left canine had been.
