There are moments when time seems to stand still. All extraneous sounds fade away, the movements of others—or even their very existence—become insignificant. That’s how it felt right now. As if the entire world, every person on the planet, had vanished, leaving just me and this man with his haunting eyes and equally haunting words. The notion of his madness no longer seemed so far-fetched. The only thing that brought me a sliver of relief was the thought that if he intended to harm or kill me, he wouldn’t waste time on conversation.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…” I tried to calm myself more than him, but instead, he completely blocked me off from the world, filling every inch of space around me, pinning me to the wall with his rock-hard muscles.
What could I do? Scream? No one would hear me, and it would only enrage him further, provoking him to move beyond words to actions.
“I need help. I saw the way you looked at me! You’re not like the others—you care!” he said in a low, gravelly voice, pausing deliberately between each word.
“But Andrew… the therapist… he said you need a psychotherapist, and that…”
“I’m not crazy!” His hand slammed heavily into the wall beside my head, cutting off my last possible escape route. “But I will be soon!”
“Listen, you need to calm down… Besides… your bracelet… what you’re doing right now will only make things worse. Please, let me go… I won’t tell anyone that you…”
“To hell with it!” he barked in response. Then he stepped back slightly, only to yank me toward him, gripping the collar of my jacket tightly.
I tried to wriggle free, but in that same instant, the cold barrel of a gun pressed painfully into my back.
“I asked nicely at first!” he whispered menacingly. “You’re leaving me no choice. I’ve got nothing to lose. If you want to live, keep quiet and do as I say!”
“Well, I’m in deep now!” was all I could think before our former “client” dragged me off to the side, not forgetting to remind me of the gun by jabbing it into my back.
I realized where we were headed as soon as a massive SUV emerged from around the corner of the alley. With its snarling radiator grille, it looked like a giant bear. Or… like my abductor.
My captor opened the passenger door and “graciously” shoved me into the vehicle. When the door slammed shut, cutting me off from the world, from the city, and perhaps from any chance of rescue, I finally snapped out of my daze. I yanked at the handle. Of course, it was locked!
The stranger barreled into the driver’s seat and, barely closing the door behind him, turned the key in the ignition.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I won’t hurt you. I just need help. If you help me, I’ll bring you right back to where I picked you up,” he said monotonously, as if he hadn’t heard me, steering out of the parking spot.
“And if I can’t? If I can’t help you?” I exhaled, catching his gaze. Dark, weary eyes. So much pain in them… Fear… Despair…
“Then you’ll stay with me until you do!” he declared, delivering his verdict.
“This is kidnapping! You do realize this is a criminal offense, right? Especially considering you’ve already got at least one charge on you, judging by that bracelet…”
“To hell with the bracelet!” he roared back. “To hell with everything! I just can’t take it anymore! And you… if you can’t help, then here—” he slapped his hand on the gun resting on his lap, “—you’ll kill me, because I can’t do it myself… not yet.”
***
The SUV stopped a few minutes later near a concrete fence. Beyond it loomed a large, modern house. I’d seen it before; it wasn’t far from our office, though it sat in a newly developed part of town that was still under construction. The house had only a few neighboring buildings and one completely empty lot with a foundation and stacks of building materials. It became clear almost immediately that there’d be no help to find here.
“Move! Quick!” Stepping out of the car, my abductor “courteously” yanked me out of the vehicle by the arm, treating me like some kind of doll or piece of furniture.
When I saw the house up close, stepping into the yard, I froze before its grandeur and… its eeriness. Every home has its own unique atmosphere. But when I first laid eyes on this one, a feeling washed over me—as if it had gripped me with a cold, heavy, unrelenting hand—forcing me to exhale sharply and, for a moment, forget that I was standing next to a dangerous kidnapper with a gun. No, even he paled in comparison to this house.
The facade, adorned with several balconies covered in dark glass, seemed like a single window into another dimension, one steeped in uncertainty and hopelessness. From the windows, a mysterious, shadowy world seemed to watch the street below. The black tones of the facade and the tiles in the yard, the wide pathways, and the overly perfect, expertly trimmed bushes and trees created the impression of a sealed capsule. No wonder its owner was losing his mind. The mere sight of this monstrosity was enough!
A tall, impenetrable fence completed the picture.
“Stay here!” the owner barked, locking the heavy gate behind him before heading, presumably, to park the car.
Of course, I couldn’t let such an opportunity slip by. Especially since, off to the side behind the house, near the fence, there were a few concrete blocks. If I could climb onto them, I might scale the fence and hide among the nearby construction sites!
In a flash, I bolted toward my path to freedom.
A moment later, I skidded to a stop so abruptly that my sharp heels nearly scraped the tiles. A low growl echoed from the darkness. Soon after, two pairs of dark eyes glinted at me from the shadows, about two feet off the ground. Good Lord, were those wolves?
The owners of those eyes emerged unhurriedly to meet me. Two Rottweilers stepped out from the shadow of the house and lazily positioned themselves nearby.
“Oh!” was all I could manage to squeak out as I froze in an awkward pose, one foot hovering above the ground, too afraid to set it down.
“Grrr,” one of the dogs responded, taking a step toward me, suspiciously sniffing the air. My favorite citrus-scented perfume! Apparently, dogs weren’t fans—I thought at the worst possible moment.
Behind me, the yard was illuminated by the headlights of the car rolling into the garage, its automatic gate lifting. Without even shutting off the engine, the house’s owner rushed toward us.
“Gray and Max! Place!” he barked, and the dogs, almost seeming disappointed, trudged toward the house and, in a moment… dissolved into its shadow. That sight scared me more than the dogs themselves or their owner. I even rubbed my eyes in disbelief!
“They’ve got a way into the house!” the man grumbled, adding with disappointment, “I told you to stay put!”
“I-into the house? You mean they live inside?” I stammered. As if a deranged owner wasn’t enough, now I had to deal with these beasts nearby!
Inside, the house wasn’t as eerie as its exterior. The minimalist, modern interior was so austere that the enormous living room felt less like a home and more like a showroom. The only thing bringing it to life was a large fireplace spanning nearly an entire side wall. A few logs burned in it even now. I wondered who had placed them there while the owner was away. Surely not the dogs?
Speaking of the dogs, they were lying on large mats nearby. Raising their heads, they looked at me with curiosity.
“They…” I glanced toward the dogs, “they won’t eat me, will they?”
“They’re well-fed!” the owner grunted, and for the first time since we’d met, something resembling a faint smile flickered on his lips. “They won’t touch you! Just don’t make any sudden moves and stay close!” he added, thoroughly “reassuring” me.
“Great!” I exhaled and, just to be safe, stepped closer to the man.
“Sit!” he pointed to a large armchair nearby. I obediently sat down, unsure who I should be more wary of now—the owner or the dogs, in case of an attack.
“My name is Adam Biletsky. You’ve probably heard of me.”
“I have,” I agreed. Of course, the whole city had heard about the affairs at the Biletsky estate. The Biletskys were local philanthropists and owners of a business empire dealing in construction across the country. The company’s owners, Yuri and Marta Biletsky, had passed away six months ago, almost one after the other. They left behind three children: Adam, Vsevolod, and Maria. One of the brothers had died two months ago, and the other—the man standing before me—had been accused of his murder and released on bail just a few days prior. Every local news channel had covered it. But my habit of only half-listening to the news in the background, rather than watching intently, had failed me, and I hadn’t recognized Adam Biletsky. Even if I had seen him before, it would’ve been hard to connect the confident, commanding figure from old photos in online articles—where he gave countless interviews and shone at charity events—with the man in front of me now.
“I didn’t kill my brother. But… I’m losing my mind… I hear his voice, I see him… I can’t live like this, and I’m begging for help…” Now, the man’s face showed neither confidence nor authority. In his eyes was a genuine plea, like someone dangling over a cliff, begging for a hand to pull them up. “I’ll tell you everything. And… I’m sorry I had to drag you here by force…” he added.