This work is a piece of fiction. The book explores themes of emotional instability, psychological tension, and complex, often conflicting relationships between characters. The text may depict scenes involving aggression, coercion, or unacceptable behavior, which are characteristic of the thriller genre.
The author unequivocally does not endorse any form of violence or toxic behavior and has no intention of justifying or romanticizing such actions. The characters’ behaviors are presented as elements of the fictional narrative, not as examples to emulate.
The purpose of this text is to delve into deep psychological processes and internal conflicts within the framework of a fictional story.
1998
The biting autumn wind cut through her, sending shivers down to her bones. She should’ve stopped, turned back home, wrapped herself in a warm blanket, and curled up with a hot cup of tea and a book on the wide windowsill. Only then would the cold not echo with dread and fear of the unknown. Though, truth be told, these feelings likely had little to do with the weather. It’s hard to stay calm when you don’t know what awaits with each step forward.
As if to prove her point, a board beneath her feet creaked and snapped, sinking downward, probably into some basement that had to exist in this massive, once strategically important facility. If not for her quick reflexes and ability to think on her feet, she wouldn’t have managed to grab onto an old, dust-covered shelf and avoid plummeting through the rotten flooring.
“What the hell?” she muttered under her breath as, to top it all off, a fat raindrop landed on her nose, seeping through the long-worn-out roof.
Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, as if ready to burst out.
“What a coward I am!” she thought to herself. “I should’ve stayed home instead of dragging myself out here for who-knows-what reason. Just had to figure things out… This is nothing but looking for trouble!” If only this trouble was limited to a broken floor and a soaked-through jacket, and the suspicions and doubts that had haunted her for days could be left behind.
The farther she walked, the deeper she ventured into this hopeless maze, the more her gut screamed at her to turn back. While there was still time. Before she got herself irreversibly stuck in what felt like a deliberately set trap. But what kind of trap? This wasn’t a movie, not a detective story or an action flick where such scenarios played out.
So why did it all start like something straight out of a gritty American blockbuster? Why did fear grip her so tightly, yet she stubbornly pressed on? The answer was simple: if the anonymous letter was to be believed, somewhere here, amid the ruins of a half-destroyed warehouse of a long-defunct tank factory, was HIM. The guy—for whose sake she’d do anything. The only person close to her in the whole wide world. The one she loved beyond measure and from whom she least expected something like this.
She still couldn’t believe that HE could get tangled up in such a mess. Even as she made her way here, she clung to the faint hope that this was just a prank by that same Paul. A stupid, childish, pointless joke. After all, he knew full well how much she hated the cold and was terrified of creepy, abandoned places like this. Maybe he decided to test her, as if to say, “If you love me, you’ll come despite your fears.”
Well, she came. Proved her love, so to speak. So where, pray tell, was Paul himself, or the mastermind behind this so-called “prank”? When would he jump out from behind the next turn in these endless corridors, yelling “Surprise!”? She was so cold and tired of waiting for that moment that she was ready to forget everything… If she knew for sure this was just a joke, she’d have turned around and left long ago. But a nagging premonition and the need to find out wouldn’t let her stop halfway. Something much stronger than herself drove her forward.
It felt like her inner world had split in two. One part, naive and trusting, desperately doubted that what she’d read the day before was true. The other, far more grounded and realistic, gnawed at her with tiny worms of doubt, insisting that no one would dare play such a cruel joke on her. It was too absurd. You don’t mess around with stuff like this, sending vicious letters. That was too much, even for Paul.
Sweet, beloved Paul. So kind, so gentle. He wasn’t the type to scheme. She was sure of it! She knew everything about him, and then some. He couldn’t deceive her. “Just like he couldn’t come clean about his secrets…” a voice of reason whispered from the back of her mind.
How she wished this would all turn out to be a horrible dream—a nonsensical delusion of her half-asleep mind. She longed to wake from this nightmare and laugh about it with Paul, as if it were just childish nonsense. For everything to go back to how it was before. But… as she turned into a long corridor she hadn’t encountered during her wandering, she realized with horror that she was lost. No surprise in a place this huge, where everything looked eerily the same.
If she hadn’t ended up here today, she never would’ve guessed that such desolate, abandoned, and downright creepy places existed in her small provincial town. She used to think she knew her hometown like the back of her hand. That same assumption, it seemed, applied to Paul.
Moving straight ahead, afraid to lose her bearings completely, she heard voices. The closer she got to what was once a doorway, now half-blocked by remnants of a brick wall, the clearer they became. Soon, she could tell there were at least three men there. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but she had a strong feeling that revealing her presence would put her in danger.
Her mind screamed, flashing a bright red warning light, telling her to turn back, but her stubbornness, natural thirst for adventure, and desire to understand who had lured her here under Paul’s name wouldn’t let her retreat.
Slowing her pace, trying to move as carefully as possible to avoid brushing against the scattered debris of old furniture or making the rotten floorboards creak under her weight, she crept close to a crack in the wall that revealed a vast, equally dilapidated room. There were still remnants of spare parts lying around; it looked like some kind of workshop where tanks were once assembled.
Scanning the room quickly, her eyes caught on three figures standing in the distance. Facing away from her, they were positioned in the farthest, darkest corner, making it nearly impossible to see them clearly. The evening dusk and the gloom of the miserable autumn weather didn’t help visibility. She could only make out the silhouettes of some very sturdy, strong-looking men—guys a fragile girl like her wouldn’t stand a chance against.
Why was she even thinking about this? Run! Run and don’t look back! It was doubtful that sticking around would yield anything useful, and it could easily turn into more trouble than she bargained for.
She was just about to bolt when a familiar voice rang out, rooting her to the spot. She wanted to be wrong, but she’d recognize that voice anywhere. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and peering closer, she spotted, behind the backs of the brutes—as she’d mentally dubbed the strangers—the very person she’d come here for. He was sitting on a chair and… tied up! At least, his hands were behind his back, and his body was wrapped in thick rope. At first, the words he spoke were so unclear they sounded more like childish mumbling, no matter how hard she strained to listen.
“What kind of nonsense is this?” one of the thugs barked. “Who the hell is Sizy? What are you blabbering about? If he knew the crap you’re spewing, he’d strangle you himself!”
The irritated voice sounded harsh, and the accent reminded her of someone who’d done hard time—maybe five years or more. For some reason, she was almost certain of it. The memory of times when the country was run by thugs was still too vivid. Judging by the current situation, things hadn’t gotten any better.
“Guys, I don’t know how this happened,” Paul spoke more clearly now.
Despite the stark reality of what she was seeing, a faint flicker of hope for rescue still burned in her soul, but her beloved’s voice carried no hint of a joke.
“He doesn’t know how this happened,” another one roared, seemingly the leader of the trio. “When it came to screwing us over, to stiffing us on cash, he knew exactly what he was doing, but now he doesn’t know! You piece of trash!” The thug spat on the ground, making her stomach churn.
“How disgusting. What kind of mess has Paul gotten himself into?” she thought. “I’ve got to save him! But how? These are dangerous people…”
Everything somehow felt like a scene from those gangster movies that had been playing more often on TV lately, with one key difference—in a movie, you didn’t feel the same terror that gripped her body as she watched this unfold in real life. In a movie, no matter how much you worried for the characters, you knew there’d be a happy ending. Good always triumphed over evil, and the good guys beat the bad ones, no matter how deep in trouble they were.
Right now, it was far scarier because this was reality. A suffocating, throat-clenching reality that brought tears to her eyes. A reality filled with fear about whether she could help the person she loved and confusion about who she even needed to save him from.
“I’m asking you one last time, you scum,” the first thug she’d heard today growled, leaning down toward Paul. “Who’d you sell the Afghan stuff to? How is it that neither me nor Sizy know a damn thing about it, huh? Who’d you give the money to?”
“I didn’t know, I swear. I thought it was from Sizy. They told me it was him,” Paul stammered, his voice trembling.
“What were you thinking with, you idiot, when you handed over the cash like a good little boy? You might as well have walked out on the street and given it to the first person you saw!”
“Just take him out, Krot, and be done with it!” the third one interjected.
“You know what? When I get my hands on your girl, I’ll say I didn’t know whose she was either,” the leader, Krot, sneered, ignoring his accomplice’s comment.
The other two burst into loud laughter, clearly appreciating the crude joke.
“Don’t you dare touch her!” Paul snapped, finding some courage.
In another situation, she might’ve been touched by such fierce protectiveness, since she had little doubt who they meant by “your girl.” But not now.
“And what’re you gonna do about it?” Krot leaned in closer. “You gonna fight us? You’re in no shape for that! I hope your girlfriend’s smarter than you and figures out quick how to get you out of this mess. What do you think, boys? Will she spread her legs right away, or put up a little fight? Either way, it’s her inevitable fate. Just like the one waiting for you. Pray, you moron, that we kill you quick!”
“Finish him, Krot!” one of the brutes interrupted again, and the glint of a knife blade flashed in his hand.
She needed to run somewhere, call for help! Save Paul at any cost, because these thugs weren’t bluffing—they’d kill him without a second thought. But her body was frozen by an invisible force, compelling her to stand still and watch what was happening.
It was as if she were trapped in a horrific nightmare. Every fiber of her being sensed the inevitable approaching, saw it unfolding, but she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t have the strength to wake up. She was held back by both fear and a desperate need to see this through to the end, still clinging to hope for a happy outcome. But this wasn’t a dream at all. The slightest hesitation would come at a tremendous cost—the cost of a human life. The cost of Paul’s life. She couldn’t let that happen!
“Hold on!” the leader stopped them. “Killing’s easy, but we need to figure out how he’s gonna pay.”
“Pay with what? This piece of garbage will die without telling us where he stashed the money.”
“So, kid, you gonna tell us how you pulled this off and live? Or do we find out ourselves, and it’ll be worse for not just you, but your girl too?” Krot pressed, knowing exactly where to hit. “Keep in mind—we’re watching her. One wrong move from you, and she’ll be paying off your debt in your place. We’ll find a use for her.”
“Go to hell, you bastards!” Paul roared, and somehow, leaping up from the chair, he freed his hands and lunged at Krot with a piece of rebar.
A sudden move, and he tried to knock one of the thugs off his feet. Another, and the quietest of the accomplices grabbed and twisted Paul’s arm. The rebar clattered to the floor with a metallic ring. The second brute tripped him, sending Paul crashing to the ground. It was like slow-motion footage. Like a bizarre plot that wouldn’t even appear in a nightmare. The third, Krot, pulled a gun from behind his jeans’ waistband and aimed it at Paul.
She wanted to scream, but the cry lodged in her throat like an unmovable stone, unable to break free. The only option was to reveal herself. To delay the inevitable, even for a moment. Let them carry out their threats, let them force her to “pay off” as they’d said. Just don’t touch Paul!
She took a step, the last step out of her hiding spot.
Just a little more, but in an instant, someone from behind, as if anticipating her next move and wanting to protect her, grabbed her shoulders with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, muffling the gasp that escaped. At that very moment, a deafening gunshot rang out from the other side of the workshop, signaling that it was over.
Thankfully, she didn’t see it. Instead, pressed against the wall by a strong male body, she looked with both shock and relief at the person she least expected to see here after Paul. The one who always came to her rescue. The one who could fix anything. It felt like, with his arrival, she could rewind time and change what had happened to her beloved.
“Shh, kid, shh,” the man whispered with just his lips, still holding her against the wall and keeping his hand over her mouth, afraid she’d give away their position. “You can’t change anything now, and they won’t stop at anything.”
But how? How the hell could she stay quiet when over there… She couldn’t even let her thoughts drift in that direction. Paul. Her Paul! Was he really gone? It couldn’t be! It was just… She’d wake up soon and realize this was all a terrible dream.
She couldn’t even cry. There were no tears. Just shock and silent horror in her eyes.
“I’m gonna move my hand now, and you’re not gonna scream,” her companion urged. “Okay? We need to get out of here without being seen, or wait until they leave. They won’t come this way; they’ll exit from the other side.”
It wasn’t hard to guess who “they” were. But how did he know so much? Why was he here?
“If you understand, nod,” he insisted.
Getting her confirmation, he loosened his grip, letting her take a full breath, but stayed ready to cover her mouth again if needed.
“What are you doing here, Oleg?” she stammered nervously.
“Probably the same thing as you,” he snorted, irritated. “Trying to save someone’s ass. Only, if I’m being honest, you’ve done a lousy job of it. Let me see this through to a better ending.”
“Did they kill him?” she asked faintly, ignoring his long rant, though her question sounded more like a statement.
This time, Oleg could only give a hesitant nod.
“Who are they?”
“Aren’t you asking a bit too much?” he hissed, peering out from their hiding spot. “Now’s not the best time.”
He didn’t get to finish. The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted him.
“Krot, something about this doesn’t sit right with me. Did we accidentally bring a tail with us?” a voice, one of the thugs, sounded alarmingly close.
Oleg pressed a finger to her lips, urging silence, and carefully pulled her closer, making her crouch down with him. It almost worked. All they had to do was hold their breath and wait for the “check” to pass them by. When Krot’s lackey walked past without suspecting a thing, Oleg, realizing waiting wasn’t an option, signaled to creep along the wall toward a turn that led to the exit they’d come from.
He should’ve gone first to test the floor for weak spots, but she ended up ahead. Whether it was the terror gripping her mind and heart or just carelessness, she stepped in the wrong place. A board snapped loudly under her foot. She froze for a moment, but before she could react, a shout came from behind:
“Krot, Krivy, get over here! Look who I found!”
“Rita, run!” Oleg yelled, shoving her forward, trying to cover her and give her a chance to escape.
She didn’t want to leave Oleg behind too. She didn’t want to lose the last pillar of support in her life. But she knew full well that if she stood by silently again, watching what these monsters were capable of, she’d be no help to anyone. She had to try to escape, to get help in time.
Just a few steps left. She grabbed the doorframe, afraid she’d lose her balance and fall otherwise, but she couldn’t help turning back, hearing the shouts behind her:
“Damn it, they’ve been watching us!”
Looking back, she didn’t immediately notice someone blocking her path. Only when she crashed head-on into what felt like a massive wall—a wall that turned out to be one of the thugs—did she realize she was trapped. There was no getting out now. Fighting with all her strength, she tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening nearby. She wanted to see what was happening to Oleg.
He was fighting back, holding his own against the thugs, not giving an inch. He fought bravely and desperately, with an edge in agility and speed. But it was all decided from the start—no amount of quickness could save him when the fight was uneven from the get-go, and the stronger side had weapons.
Rita didn’t want to see or hear any of this. She wanted to fall asleep and wake up when the nightmare was gone from her life. Maybe her mind took pity on her, because the gun aimed at her friend was the last thing she saw before passing out.
“Oleg, no!”
The gun and the sharp crack of a shot, muffled by the frantic scream of a girl who had just lost everything…