“Look at that,” Vitali said, “I didn’t even have to tell him your name. Why is that, Ruslan? Might you know him? Confess your sins.”
Clipboard howled, but Misha quickly delivered a kick to his ribs.
“Try again,” Vitali said. “Begin with your most heinous sin.”
“I only—I don’t—”
Another kick. It seemed to hurt Misha more than it did Clipboard.
“I’m sorry for touching her!” the man cried, whipping his head around to face me. “I’m sorry for touching her! Just let me go!”
“Continue, Batuyshka.”
The priest looked on helplessly. “I don’t have any… I don’t have the sacrament with me…”
Vitali snapped his fingers, and Ivan handed the priest a bottle of what I recognized to be a red vintage, although I couldn’t say more than that. It seemed important that I read the label, but the priest’s hands shook too hard.
“The servant of God Ruslan partakes of the precious and holy Body and Blood of our Lord…” he started, and Ivan helpfully uncorked the holy (vintage) blood.
“All of it,” Vitali said flatly. I grabbed onto him because the room was no longer a steady place. He pulled me in close and put an arm around me. “It’s okay, Kotik, we’re almost done, and then we can go home. Draw you a bath.”
The priest took a few steps toward his screaming brother and tipped the bottle until the wine came splashing in bouts over his head. It wasn’t drained by the time the prayer was over, sofor several moments we all stood in silence and listened to it glug and gurgle to a stop.
“The Lord said ‘Into whatsoever city or village ye enter…’” the priest continued.
“Skip to the anointing,” Vitali said. “Kotik is tired.”
The priest nodded. Boris and Ivan left the room.
I blinked and tried very hard to remember what came next. What I recalled of the rites upon Papa’s passing.
Oh no…
I placed a hand over his chest.
His heart wasn’t even racing. Just a steady, resting beat.
They came back from the kitchens just as the priest began the anointing prayer. To his credit, he didn’t falter when they tipped the hot oil over poor Clipboard’s head.
The room swayed, and bile rose in my throat as a skin bubble burst across his forehead—then another—like watching bone broth come to a boil in slow motion.
The screams were not quick to stop.
Vitali crossed himself, and I heard the words only because I stood beside him.
“Give no rest to the soul of Thy departed servant…”
Satisfied with the performance, he scooped me up and carefully stepped over the spill. In the same moment, Ivan took the pistol out, and one quickpopput down the priest.
Misha opened the door for us and followed us out back, where the Mercedes was already running.
Vitali placed me in the backseat and fixed his jacket around my shoulders, then told Misha, “I’m going to wash up. Put the heaters on.”
Misha got into the driver’s seat. We were silent, and then I risked looking up at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Hiseyes were downcast, and his pallor green.
“If what you saw tonight doesn’t persuade you, I don’t know what will,” he said quietly. “I won’t come to you with these things anymore, because I think you’ve seen what you need to see. This is the last time I’ll tell you anything, because I like you, but suppose you made your decisions clear.”
“Misha…”
