SCARS

A Name From The Past

CHAPTER TWO

Anastasia didn't move.

For several seconds, she remained in the middle of the dark hallway, staring toward the staircase. The house had become unusually quiet, and the silence made the sound she had just heard seem even more unsettling.

Viktor.

Her father's name.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her robe as she tried to convince herself that she had misunderstood what she had heard.

It had been three years since a stranger had said her father's name inside this house. Three years since Viktor Volkov had died, leaving behind an empty chair at the dinner table and a silence that nobody in the family seemed willing to acknowledge.

Anastasia took a careful step toward the staircase.

Then another.

The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet, and she stopped.

"Hello?"

Her voice sounded smaller than she intended.

There was no answer.

She waited for a moment before continuing down the stairs. One hand remained on the railing as she glanced toward the sitting room and then the dining room, but both were empty. The front door was closed, and everything appeared exactly as it should.

For a moment, she wondered if she had imagined it.

Perhaps she had been half asleep. Perhaps grief had a way of turning ordinary sounds into memories.

She was about to return upstairs when she noticed that the door to her father's study was slightly open.

Anastasia stopped.

Nobody used that room anymore.

After Viktor's death, her mother had forbidden the younger children from entering it. She had always said there was nothing inside that mattered anymore, but Anastasia had never completely believed her.

She walked toward the door and pushed it open.

The familiar scent of her father's cologne lingered in the room.

It was strange that she could still recognize it after all these years.

She switched on the light and looked around.

Everything appeared exactly as she remembered it. The large wooden desk stood beside the window, the bookshelves were still filled with Viktor's books, and the old leather chair remained in the corner where he used to sit whenever he wanted to be alone.

Anastasia's eyes settled on the desk.

The top drawer was open.

Only slightly, but enough for her to notice.

She walked closer.

Her father had always kept that drawer locked. She remembered being nine years old and trying to open it while he was away from his desk. He had caught her before she could find out what was inside.

Instead of getting angry, he had simply closed the drawer and looked at her with an expression she had never forgotten.

"Some things are better left alone, Anastasia."

At the time, she hadn't understood what he meant.

Standing in the same room three years after his death, she still didn't.

She reached toward the drawer.

Before she could open it, she heard a sound behind her.

Anastasia turned sharply.

Nothing was there.

She stood still, listening.

"Who's there?"

Again, there was no answer.

Then she heard footsteps coming from the hallway.

Someone was walking through the house.

Anastasia quickly switched off the light and pressed herself against the wall beside the study door. The footsteps grew louder as the person approached.

She could hear them clearly now.

The person stopped outside the room.

Anastasia held her breath.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Then the footsteps continued toward the front entrance.

She waited until she heard the door open and close before stepping away from the wall.

Anastasia hurried to the window.

A black car was parked outside the gates. Its headlights came on, illuminating the driveway for a brief moment before the vehicle pulled away.

She watched until it disappeared from sight.

She didn't recognize the car, but something inside her told her that whoever had been in the house had not come there by accident.

Her attention returned to the study.

She walked back to the desk and carefully pulled open the drawer.

There were only a few old documents, a fountain pen, and an envelope.

There was no name written on it and no address. Anastasia turned it over in her hands, searching for some indication of who it belonged to, but there was nothing.

She opened it.

It was empty.

Her eyebrows drew together.

Why would someone leave an empty envelope in her father's locked drawer?

Before she could think about it any further, she heard her mother's voice from the hallway.

"Anastasia?"

She nearly dropped the envelope.

She quickly placed it back inside the drawer and turned around.

"Yes?"

Elena appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes immediately went to the desk before settling on Anastasia.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard something."

"What kind of something?"

"I thought someone was downstairs."

For a brief moment, something changed in her mother's expression.

Anastasia noticed it immediately.

"Nobody is downstairs," Elena said.

"Mom, I heard someone say Dad's name."

Elena went completely still.

The silence between them seemed to stretch.

Then she looked away.

"You were tired."

"I'm not imagining things."

"I didn't say you were."

"Then who was here?"

Elena's expression hardened.

"Go to your room, Anastasia."

"Mom—"

"Now."

Anastasia stared at her.

Her mother had never spoken to her in that tone before, at least not since Viktor died.

Something was wrong.

Elena walked toward the desk and closed the drawer. Her hand remained on it for a moment before she finally looked back at her daughter.

"Your father is gone."

Anastasia swallowed.

"I know."

"Then let him stay gone."

Her mother walked out of the room.

Anastasia remained where she was, trying to understand what had just happened.

Those four words stayed with her.

Let him stay gone.

But if Viktor was truly gone, why had a stranger come into their house tonight? Why had he said her father's name? And why had her mother looked frightened the moment Anastasia mentioned it?

She looked at the closed drawer again.

Anastasia wondered whether her father's death had left behind more than grief.

Perhaps it had also left behind a secret.