I enter a link. I learned it by heart, every character. A photograph appears on the screen, shattered by two lightning-like stripes.

Konstantin Liskovets in the center. Eyes riveted to themselves. Gray and evil. He looks directly at the photographer. With indecent arrogance. The narrow, protruding chin is slightly lowered, and the position of his head makes his straight nose appear more elongated in the frame, making his expression look even darker. He has beautiful lips, with well-defined triangles. They seem hard and stubborn. Above the bridge of the nose there are two wrinkles of different depth. Hands in coat pockets. Tall, slender, with straight shoulders. He descends the stairs of his clinic in a hurry, blond wavy hair, long in front, knocked to his temple by the oncoming air. His appearance surprisingly combines rage and sadness. And this contradiction attracts me so strongly that it becomes ashamed. Because he may be the very person who robbed me of my real happy life.

To the right of his photo, Masha is at some cafe. She is wearing a black turtleneck. Dark brown, like wet wood, her hair is gathered into a braid and lies on her shoulder. Sad brown eyes look somewhere into the distance. Small pink lips are pursed, setting a crease above the bulge of her chin. She seems noble and merciful, eternally compassionate to the misfortunes of all mankind.

And to the left of Liskovets is a photograph of Alexandra Baunts, his bride. Sasha is a beautiful, rich, popular model, successful blogger.

The caption above the photo reads: "The mayor's son: it's not me, or how my fiancee killed my mistress."

Are you sure that this girl is the same Masha?

She even has the same earrings. Do you know why I couldn't find her among the missing persons at that time? Nobody was looking for her. They write that Maria Melnikova was found dead on the day he let me go. The body was mutilated. The last person alive to see her was a taxi driver who took Masha to the city center at 11:00 in the evening on the day of my abduction. Only now the camera at the entrance, where she left, had been broken for several weeks. And that's it. With ends. The night of the seventeenth, - I bend my fingers, - the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth. Nobody was looking for her, Arkady Anatolyevich. How can this be? And I will answer you myself. Because she was the mistress of the mayor's son. So they all sat in silence. And then they hushed up the matter.

“Wait,” it seemed to dawn on him. He pats my arm and closes the laptop. “You said… Did you see him?” Have you seen Konstantin...

- It was not easy to find him. He is not on social media. It is impossible to find out in which places he prefers to spend his time. Officially, he is listed as a co-owner of daddy's clinic. But in fact it doesn't exist. No one, of course, gave me his contacts. I had to turn to a private detective. And I got the address of his current job. This is a shop, not far from the park "Northern". Can you imagine, the son of the mayor, a talented cardiac surgeon, now works as a stacker in a supermarket? I smiled nervously.

- You went there, - disappointed.

- Not empty-handed.

Your sardonic smile scares me.

What does "sardonic" mean?

- The smile of a man before death. Angry, caustic, contemptuous. From Greek Literature.

It twitches me. I mumble:

- I hate Greek myths.

- I remember.

- Are you on purpose? Are you mocking me?

“Are you taking advantage of the fact that I promised not to talk to the police until we have solid results?”

- I trust you. One of the few men I use it.

- There's a chance they'll find the kidnapper if the police know you were both there.

“If you tell them,” I take a step towards him, “I will deny everything,” I cut the air between us with a phrase.

“Okay, okay,” he puts out his palms, as if hiding from me. - What did you bring for him?

- Leaflet. I asked for a volunteer group. They were looking for a girl. And I started posting ads. And together with them she took the one that she printed herself. It says that a missing person is wanted. My phone number is listed. And a photo of Masha from that article.

Arkady Anatolyevich makes the “hand-face” gesture that I hate.

We have to tell the police everything. Now that the identity of the second girl is known, you can find a connection between you. There was a chance to find the criminal and send him to prison.

- I won't get satisfaction if he gets jailed. I won't get satisfaction until there's none at all.

- This is a normal reaction. Do you think he'll run away, or...

- Not. You do not understand. Fear is higher, superficial, insignificant. Shame. That's what comes first. He knows what really happened. Not you, not the police. Just me and him. And I don't want this knowledge to live. And it will live until he dies. The first step has already been taken. I found him. It's definitely him. You didn't see how he reacted to the leaflet. And on me. If they had seen, they would have believed.

- Yana. If he were your kidnapper, he would recognize you. And behaved imperceptibly.

He flared up due to the effect of surprise. And at first he couldn't find out. I was wearing a scarf pulled up to my eyes.

- First... And what happened next?

- I wanted to take off my scarf. I wanted him to recognize me. I wanted this so much that my panties were wet.

Chapter 3.

A white shroud replaces the stone towers. The forest surrounds at once. Wet snow weighs down the branches, turns the path into a tunnel. I slow down. Running here is like foul language. It's blasphemous just to look.

Watch with eyes wide open.

She is waiting for me in the middle of the frozen lake. A lone figure in gray clothes. Only colored eyes. Her warm brown eyes. They welcome me with hope. Which I will again destroy to the penultimate stone.

“Nothing,” I peer into the mink between the thick woolen threads of her scarf. I caress with my eyes the tip of my collarbone under the edge of a small golden cross. Only I know how sweet her white skin tastes there.

And that one.

This thought infuriates me. The fingers are compressed at once, to a crunch, to a pain in the palms.

- I didn't find anything, Marie. Sorry good...

"So be it," her voice is muffled through the tight surgical mask. I still thank you...

“Give me a little more time,” the traitor voice breaks into a wheeze.

- Kostya, you did everything you could - her friendliness is not mercy - pity.

- I'm so sorry for you.

I take a step towards her. But she retreats on all two. I'd give anything to hold her close. Breathe in her scent. To feel her melt in my arms. Kiss her cheeks and lips, which I haven't seen for a year and a half, and which she will never show me again.

- Let me hug you. You are welcome.

- Not.

At least take your hand.

Wounds ... Wounds rot again. I do not want this smell to be the last reminder of me. Not this way. This is not how we should have parted.

She brings her gloved hands to her mouth, warming them with her own breath through the white sieve of the surgical mask. I hear a crack. It looks like ice is falling under it.

Looking down. She lifts her skirt up to her panties. Her knees bend backwards. Breaking down. And she brings herself down. Looking at the fracture of her body, from the stumps of her knees to her bare thighs. A black thread is sewn into the wound, wriggling in swollen redness, crossed out by clots of slimy white pus.

An attack of nausea. The eyes are covered with a veil. I'm on my knees.

She crawls. Approaches me, dragging the stumps.

I smell her. New. The disgusting smell of her festering flesh.

Hand on my shoulder

- You're trembling even now. You were never afraid of the cold. You're not shaking from the cold. It is so? It is so? He hears me swallow. And her voice becomes gentle: - The only thing that brings me relief: to know - you did not see what he did to me.

- Kostya, dear, get up, - a squeaky voice. I wince. I open my eyes. My neck cracks when I tilt my head to the side. Elisha tickles me behind the ear like a cat and smiles. - Get up, sleepyhead, - his low voice finally descended into a screech.

We arrived? I drop his hand. The car is parked under a bright gold sign. - Did I sleep long?

You passed out in the middle of a conversation.

Sorry. - I breathe out. - I dreamed about Masha.

I sympathize, - he purses his lips, looks through the windshield.

Clearing my throat:

What we were talking about? Before I fell asleep.

Apparently you're not that interested.

Kowalski. You talked about their meeting with their father. He buys a clinic.

Elisha neighs. Deep folds went down her cheeks, freckles stretched.

Kovalevsky. And don't wishful thinking. Kovalevsky wants to buy it, but your father rejects him for the third time. Although the price offered is interesting, even for your wealthy family.

There is no family. And I made it clear that I'm not going back.

Elisha exhales for a long time:

I don't understand, because it's your brainchild.

I've lost interest in it. Finally. And to the clinic, and to medicine in general.

When you realize that you made a big mistake, it will be too late.

I've been thinking…

For a long time? Yes, you thumped every day, for a whole year! For a long time he thought.

Look, I've made up my mind. I don't care what happens to the clinic. Let Kowalski buy it, destroy it with an earthquake, let Satan appear, and burn it to the ground. Anything. Spit.

I spend days and nights in your clinic, - he successfully restrains an attack of irritation, and masterfully hides the offense. “I was looking for you in the most blasphemous places in the city so that you would sign papers. I read every document myself. Negotiated with equipment suppliers. Conducted interviews with experts. I smacked you in front of the press. Dealt with tax. Resolved conflicts with clients. So that when you come to your senses and deign to return to business, you have somewhere to return to.

That's the rub. You are there in fact - no one, - Elisha swallows. - I am the owner. And my father. And we both don't give a shit about this clinic.

What about Mila? And other girls with an unfortunate fate and sick parents / children? How will you save their lives? My connections will quickly get lost if I'm not in business. You already lost yours. Only me and Karine remained. Nobody believes in you anymore.

- Mila is an isolated case. There won't be anyone else. I won't ask you for anything else. Only about one thing: forget about the clinic. Let the father do what he wants. Just don't go there. Everything will be blown away in a month. And he himself will gladly sell it for next to nothing. Kowalski will be delighted to the core.

Kovalevsky. And he is very angry. I would take this seriously if I were you.