From Russia Via Blog
a short story by CE Wills
published by CE Wills at Smashwords
copyright 2010, all rights reserved by CE Wills
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is strictly coincidental. There are some very mild adult themes. All characters are 18 years of age or older.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter 1
She was dark-skinned, sort of foreign-looking. She had black hair, shoulder length and wore khaki slacks and a blue dress shirt with a button-down collar. She appeared at my door here in the North-Georgia mountains very unexpectantly. Unexpected, in fact, because I did not know her nor had I ever seen her.
It seemed she knew me, though. The first words out of her mouth confirmed this.
"I recognize you from the picture on your Blog. It doesn't do you justice."
"Thanks, I said. "Won't you come in?'
I stood aside and she walked past me and sat on the couch. She crossed her legs and watched me as I closed the door and sat across from her in a recliner.
I looked at her in undisguised curiosity. She was attractive and built great, very fit-looking. She had bright, intelligent eyes with a kind of dangerous glitter. Did I now have my first stalker?
"So, I gather you read my Blog?"
"Yes, for two years now." She smiled at me.
I smiled back. "That's how long I've had the Blog."
"Yes," she replied. "I enjoy it. It seems to me, though, that you sound lonely since your wife died last year."
I coughed to cover up the lump in my throat.
"Yes. You're right about that. I have been lonely."
She gave me an understanding, sympathetic look.
"It occurred to me that I should come here and be with you."
This was really intriguing so I asked, "So where do you hail from?'
"Russia," she said quietly. More intrigue.
"Let me get this straight. You came all the way from Russia because you read my Blog?"
"Yes." She laughed softly as though she realized the absurdity of it. She had a nice smile, complete with dimples. Even this did not soften the glitter of the eyes. A little voice inside me spoke up. "She has killed." Ah, the dimpled killer, I thought grimly. What a title for my next novel!
"What's your name?"
"Tattia Reine."
I held out my right hand.
"Woodrow Locke, at your service."
Tattia shook my hand and leaned back with her hands folded in her lap.
"You said on your Blog that your friends call you Woody. May I call you that?"
"Of course."
I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of iced tea for both of us, stalling for time to decide what to do. Then we sipped the tea in silence for a moment, lost in our thoughts.
I reflected on the situation. It was almost too good to casually discard. As a writer, it was the sort of thing I'd make up for a story. What the heck, my life was so mundane, I might as well play along with her. I put my glass on the table beside me.
"Do you have your luggage in your car?"
"Yes." She took another sip of tea.
"I'll carry it in for you."
"Good. There's two suitcases in the back seat."
I went out to the driveway with my pulse accelerating nicely. When I returned with the bags she watched me enter. She had not moved, evidently.
"I'll put your bags in the spare bedroom. If you come with me I'll show you where everything is."
She stood and placed a hand on my arm as I walked by her. I stopped.
"Put my bags in your bedroom, Woody. Then I'll show you where everything is."
Chapter 2
Later that evening we lay together in my bed. She was telling me a bit of her story, which I suspected was fabricated bullshit.
"I was in an arranged marriage to a much older man. He was very rich and prominent in the Russian Mafia. An evil man, but he treated me wonderfully. I grew very fond of him, though I never came to love him."
"What happened to him?"
"He was murdered by ... competitors. I felt it prudent to leave Russia, due to the viciousness of my husband's enemies. Often they kill the families of their adversaries as a way of instilling fear."
"So you decided to try America and I was the only person you "knew"?
"Something like that." She smiled a tight little smile that did not allow her teeth to show. I later discovered this to be a trademark of her's. Even this early in the relationship I suspected one would prefer she not show her teeth, in the dangerous sense of the phrase.
At any rate, Tattia stayed with me and things seemed to go well. She was well-nigh insatiable in bed, a fun companion, a lousy cook and inquisitive to a fault concerning all things American. She was a top notch mechanic and a better plumber than I. Even so, she was very feminine. I, frankly, had never seen her like.
I took her to Disneyworld in Orlando and she was like a kid. She said it was the best week of her life. Tattia seemed to want to go to warm places and loved the beach, any beach. We went to Panama City and after a week she refused to leave. I just laughed and agreed to stay another week. She told me, in one of her rare, unguarded moments, that Moscow was so cold that she would never get enough sun or warmth, or activity.
As for me I had played hooky from my work. I had not worked on my latest novel for six months and only posted blogs infrequently. I suppose I was too wrapped up in my Russian lover. When we were in bed she reminded me of a song by Paul McCartney. The song was Back In the USSR and he had said something about 'come and keep your comrade warm'. Tattia was certainly capable of that.
Things changed about nine months into the relationship. No, there was no baby. Tattia simply got a call on her cell phone one day. She was never the same after that call. She was never as happy.
When I asked about the call and why it made her unhappy she shook her head grimly.
"A man will be dropping by here Friday night. He will be leaving Sunday morning."
It is not my way to cling or be nosy. I merely nodded my head.
"Would you prefer I left for a while, during the time he's supposed to be here?"
Tattia looked at me in real surprise. It was hard to surprise this tough lady, I assure you.
"No, that won't be necessary, but thanks for asking."
On Thursday night Tattia was melancholy. She began to do shots of chilled vodka as we sat on the porch and watched the sun go down. We both got shit-faced and she became emotional. It was the first time I had seen her thus.
"My little fantasy world is coming to an end, my love."
"How so?" I asked quietly. It was her story, I'd let her tell it.
"This man, Gregor, who is coming tomorrow night? He is KGB." She sighed. "You know what is KGB?" In moments of stress her English suffered a bit.
"Yes, I know what the KGB is."
"Gregor is on a mission in your country. A mission you would not approve of."
"I see." I looked at the floor, hurting for her and hurting for myself.
"No, my love. You do not. I have turned your home into a safe house and a sound post for information. Is it not horrible? And yet I love you, truly. My first and only love. I am miserable inside."
Deeply troubled, I went to bed, so drunk I went to sleep almost immediately. When I awoke she was gone.
Gregor did not come on Friday night, but on Saturday morning I saw his handiwork. I found Tattia's body on my porch, one bullet hole in her chest and one in the back of her head. I buried her in the forest in a deep grave because I knew not what else to do. Now there's dead leaves piled high on the grave of this mysterious woman. I miss her horribly. If I only had her cell phone maybe I could track this Gregor down and kill him.
The End
Thanks for reading this e-book. If you get time try my blog at http:authorsgreenretreat.blogspot.com
CE Wills