chapter 8
808 Words
Chapter 8
Mikhail Grayson was put into a small cell. The wind is heavy, the walls are peeling, the light is dim. A little sky can be seen beyond the iron fence—but there is no escape there.
He sat down next to the wall. It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of his chest. He looked at the scar on his hand—the handcuff mark was red.
“Why?” he said to himself.
“Why me?”
Someone laughed outside. Mikhail closed his eyes.
Suddenly a voice outside the door—
“Visit. Someone has come to see you.”
Mikhail blinked. “Who?”
“He didn’t say his name. He said you were about to be released.”
He stood up slowly. The guard took him into a small room.
The room was dimly lit, and a man in a black coat sat across the table. Half of his face was covered in shadow, his eyes fixed.
Mikhail stood silently.
“Who are you?”
The man slowly raised his head.
“You forgot, Mikhail Grayson. But I haven’t forgotten you.”
“Do you know me?”
“Very well. I know you want to live. I’ve come to save you.”
“Save you?” Mikhail asked in surprise.
“How?”
A light, cold smile played on the man’s lips.
“Come back with me. That’s freedom.”
Mikhail narrowed his eyes.
“Where will I go back?”
“Where you escaped from.”
Mikhail’s shoulders stiffened.
“No. I won’t go back. I won’t go back to that place even if I die.”
The man tapped his finger on the table.
“No one escapes, Mikhail. Time will catch you.”
“Shut up!” Mikhail suddenly became angry.
“I don’t know any of you!”
The man stood up slowly.
“You know. Think about it.”
Mikhail was silent. His breathing was heavy. The air in the room seemed to be thick with fog.
The man said one last time,
“You can’t die if you don’t go back.”
In an instant the light went out, then came back on—the man was gone.
Mikhail stood, his chest heaving.
“No,” he said,
“I’m free. I’m no one’s slave.”
---
The night grew dark.
Mikhail was standing by the window. Outside, a light rain was falling. Water was trickling through the cracks in the shutters.
He reached out and grabbed it. The cold drops hit his fingers.
“Are you punishing me, God?” he said quietly.
The guard’s voice outside the door—
“Your wife has come.”
Mikhail was silent.
Then Monica Dixon opened the door and walked in—cold face, cold eyes.
“Are you here?” Mikhail asked slowly.
“Yes,” Monica said.
“Mom wants you to apologize.”
“Apology?” Mikhail laughed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“If you don’t apologize,” Monica said,
“you’ll stay here. Forever.”
Mikhail stared into her eyes.
“Even if I die, I won’t bow to your mother.”
“Your pride will kill you.”
“No,” Mikhail said quietly,
“I really will save me.”
Monica’s voice hardened.
“You have no money, Mikhail. You won’t have a lawyer. You have no one.”
“I’m with myself.”
Monica stared for a moment, then said,
“Then stay here.”
She left. The sound of the door closing hit Mikhail in the chest.
He sat down. He covered his head with his hands and took a deep breath.
Every word, every word, seemed to burst inside him.
“I didn’t… I didn’t do anything…”
He closed his eyes. The corners of his eyes were wet, but no tears came.
If he cried, it would all be over.
He just sat there silently.
---
At the end of the night, Mikhail saw the moon through the window.
Behind the clouds, pale.
A still peace on his face.
He whispered,
“Monica might be seeing this moon too. But our sky is different.”
It was raining.
Mikhail reached out and grabbed it.
The water hit his face.
“I’m still alive,” he said.
“And being alive doesn’t mean I’m finished.”
He closed his eyes.
He remembered the man’s words—
“Where it began, that’s where it ends.”
Mikhail tightened his lips.
“No. I’ll decide my end.”
Towards dawn, the cell’s light bulb went out.
Mikhail opened his eyes—the light was starting to fade outside.
A new morning, but the beginning of an old war.
He stood up.
He clenched his fists and whispered—
“I’m not finished. Not yet.”
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