My hands are still behind my back, numb at this point, and I wonder if it’s doing any permanent damage. I wonder what sort of consequences there are to lying on a mattress this dirty, naked, with open wounds. I wonder if they’re ever going to feed me or give me water. My stomach feels like an empty pit, and my mouth is so dry that it’s nearly unbearable.
I wonder if any of it fucking matters anymore.
Viktor hasn’t come for me.
Maybe he isn’t going to. Maybe this is all because of him. It doesn’t make sense why they would question me about him if he’d set this up, but maybe it was just some elaborate plan. Maybe he told them to make it seem realistic.
Whatever it is, I’m starting to understand the urge to simply want to die. To slip away and have the pain and misery end.
After all, what do I have left to live for?
I shift on the bed, wincing as a bruise on my stomach presses against the mattress. I think of how many times Stepan punched me there, of the cold and the pain and the lack of food and water, and as my stomach clenches with nausea, I have a sudden, horrible thought.
What if I’m pregnant?
Viktor and I have never used any kind of protection. There was also a long space where we didn’t have sex—until very recently, too soon to have any sort of symptoms or really for anything to have taken root.
But there was our wedding night.
I know the likelihood that I got pregnant on the first night is slim. I know the possibility that if I were, that the pregnancy could have survived what I’ve been put through since the kidnapping is even more so.
But just the thought that I could be, that there’s even a slight possibility, makes me curl in on myself as if I can protect the potential of that tiny life inside of me. I didn’t even want Viktor’s baby, but the thought strikes some primal urge in me, a sudden flare of protectiveness that I hadn’t known I could feel.
Don’t think about it.I can’t save myself, let alone the possibility of a baby. But now that the thought has taken root in my head, I can’t shake it free. And the thought that it might not only be me that dies here makes my heart feel as if it could shatter.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe through the pain, the hunger, the feeling of hopelessness. Whatever happens, I’m not dead yet. There’s still a chance.
A small one—but a chance nonetheless.
I fall asleep dreaming of water.
VIKTOR
Can she still be alive?
The further into the woods we go, and the colder it gets, the more I wonder if there’s any chance of finding my wife at all, let alone alive. Even Levin has grown quiet and grim as we’ve continued on, his face settled into harsh lines as we progress forward.
A few times, I’m tempted to give up on the search. I can feel the restlessness from the others, their surety that we’re chasing a needle in a haystack or looking for a woman who is already dead. I think if I asked Levin, he would say that we would do better to go back to Moscow and try to find out who was responsible for this. That Caterina herself is already lost.
But every time, I stop just short of it. Even if the outcome seems clear, I can’t abandon her, and I don’t entirely understand why. Is it guilt left over from Vera’s death? A feeling that I’d failed one wife, and I can’t fail the second? A lingering sense of duty?
On the fourth day, it’s not until the afternoon that we actually find something to go on.
“Here!” Levin waves to me, gesturing for me to come to where he’s standing, near a trail that leads into the eastern forest. It’s thick with mud, and I see immediately what caught his eye—tire tracks from a heavy vehicle, something capable of traversing this sort of terrain.
I’m hesitant to believe that it will lead me to Caterina. It could be anyone—a hunter maybe, someone camping, although I find it hard to believe anyone wouldchooseto camp out in this weather. But it’s the first clue we’ve had to go on, so I nod to him, following as we track the tire marks deeper into the forest.
Several yards in, Levin holds up a hand abruptly, and everyone comes to a halt.
Past the next stand of trees, there’s a cabin. I don’t see smoke coming from the chimney or much sign of life, but there’s a vehicle parked outside that could have made the same sort of tracks that we saw at the trailhead.
“We don’t know if she’s in there,” one of the men mutters, and I stiffen. This kind of questioning is what is poisoning my organization back in New York, and I’d had Levin choose men who specifically weren’t close with Alexei. But even these don’t seem to be able to entirely follow me without question.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Levin says flatly. “Be ready for anything.”
Slowly, we move in towards the cabin, eagle-eyed for any sign of who might be occupying it. It’s not until we reach the edge of the trees just outside of the side door that I see a sprawl mark in the dirt near those trees, as if a body was thrown there at some point.
I motion to it, and Levin nods, his jaw tightening. And then, together, we move towards the cabin door.