Hmm … There is one problem: experiments with energy field are more dangerous than playing with a dynamite. The hand involuntarily passed by a bandage on the right eye, powerlessly stroke a chin and beard brushed up again. — damn fraught, … fraught with consequences. But scepter of Maestro obliges.
Your move, Maestro of Resonance!»
* * *
Here comes the light! Just on time … Desperate gallop of the rain is getting stronger. In the book Ilya found the phone number of the Sunrise . Nodded to himself with a smile: no, he's not crazy. The suite and the room for bodyguards are ready. The driver of the Sunrise is on the way. A journalist's business card is lying around somewhere. Here it is! Should I pull it out? He got one meeting scheduled for that evening already, with Boris Batkin. However, let have an interview.
* * *
Trills of the phone broke the atmosphere of secrecy. Shadow of Holmes, crouched, vanished in thin air without a trace.
«Who is it?!» gasped Natalya into the phone. «Zvezditsky is talking? …»
«Yes» intercepted Arseny and immediately raised his fingers in V-sign. «Yes of course, we can. In Sunrise suite? Sure. Me and Boris, we will be there exactly one in hour.»
Boris jumped up. With a quiet triumph Arseny looked down onto his silent team.
Prediction of Marmarov was left forgotten.
For the time being.
White tiled bathroom sparkling.
Glare of light invites to descent into the water.
Completely nude, Ilya starred at the mirror: where did the southern macho go? Pale skin, detached gaze goes «inwards». Suddenly he spotted a bloody trail of single shoe in the mirror reflection. Where did came from? He wiggled toes of his bare feet. Turned around and came across the bottle of perfume. The same one! With hint of bergamot. Almost empty, but few drops he can shake out: three for the water and one for his temple. Hmm. Bliss … And here is the razor for a callus on his feet. But what if … a callus is in the heart?
«Sure!» Ilya yanked edge of his mouth. He'll cut it off.
So he quickly held a hand by his heart and fixed gaze in a reflection. Scarlet drops swelled under the left nipple and streamed down the body. An old razor hits ceramic floor.
Without a change of facial expression, he gently slipped into the bergamot-scented water.
«Such a bliss,» he squinted his eyes «So intoxicating like a wine. Wine?» He looked blank, the water suddenly turned red.
He and Inessa were dreaming about going to the Red Sea. And it came true … «Came True?! » the memory about Inessa has suddenly struck him down. He tried to climb out, to jump but alas: his head already was spinning around in the agonizing Waltz. The horror distorted his face: he got into the trap of Maestro!
Powerless, quiet moan had been killed by cold kiss of death, gently touched by a breath with hint of bergamot.
* * *
Semigorsk, June 30, 2009.
«You never know where to find and where to lose» gagged Boris grimly. They were waiting for an exclusive, refreshment of the local press, but sensation was born. For the whole country:
…
Shock!
TV business has suffered the loss.
26 of June, in the Verhny Hutorok, near Semigorsk, Ilya Zvezditsky, a woman’s crumpet and V star, has passed away. He was in the prime of life and glory. What led him to a suicide? An unexpected illness? The loss of his beloved wife, Inessa? However, «A Blaze -2» is not to be released.
Boris Batkin,Specially for the «Russian Gazette».
The owner of Sunrise got some of Ilya's Fame as well.
At first it was a blow. But then …
Tour operators simply clutched their heads in consternation: all rooms were booked in one hotel: Sunrise. Prices gave a slight increase to keep suites from overload. He raised capital only on reservations of that very room for the year ahead.
«Who is talking about crisis?» said owners of nearby spa-hotels rubbing their hands. This summer Verhny Hutorok sent back Courchevel to blur.
But before all that, leading mass media reporters swooped around. And dug, dug, dug… The facts were mixed with rumors. The rumors with versions. Well, love conquers all! Ilya couldn't handle parting with his better half and left for good… in good faith.
July 3, 2009
«It was a murder,» said Marmarov. Arseny rose from his chair in amazement. «Or someone led him to suicide. Carefully planned and well executed. Which gives us the murder!»
«Nonsense,» Arseny collapsed into his chair. «And where traces of struggle?» He cocked up his thumb in counting. «Where fingerprints?» he pinned out his forefinger. «There were no trace of any psychotropic drugs or poison in his blood,» Arseny 's middle and forth fingers popped up. «Ilya so gently descended into a water that there were not a drop left on the floor.» A little finger finally formed an open palm.
«Is that all?» astrologer bowed his eyebrow.
«He was alone and died from loss of blood. The wound which Ilya self-inflicted was nothing but a deep scratch. If I with Boris would arrive earlier, we could save him.» A pencil in hand of Arseny knocked against the table; an open palm laid on the table; fingers tagged on the conversation in tempo presto.
«Is that all?!»
«He himself decided to end his life. Without anyone's help. Was out of his sense of course…»
«And the fact that he invited you with Boris to give an interview, after what he rushed to a rendezvous with God … Doesn't look suspicious to you?!»
«Not at all. His meeting with the press was a guarantee that his body will be found at the same moment.»
«And the fact that a shock and horror distorted his face and features?!» raised voice Marmarov. «You are witness to it!»
«He woke up, apparently, in the last moment. But … It was too late. No one's fault, unless …»
Arseny paused catching Marmarov's attentive look and comically spread his hands:
«Unless … Stars, parade of planets. Is the sky restless today?»
Marmarov turned pale. Not omitting the sight he pulled a voluminous folder closer. Opened it and tossed on the table.
Its bloody glossy pages curved like a broken wing.
«Page 112.» said Marmarov. «Take a look.»
«So what? Corridors of Time, February issue. Old stuff!» Arseny flipped a page. «Here is page 110. Let me see,» one more page is turned up.
If thunder would rumble into Arseny's ear, it wouldn't terrify him that much. His mouth fell open: Ilya was looking at him from an open magazine page… in the disguise of Marat, insidiously stabbed in his own hot tub. And the face … the shock and the horror of death: one to one! Arseny and Boris were witnesses to it.
He glanced at the date.
«Where did it came from?!» muffled Arseny in stupor.
Rhetorical question hang like a hauled down sails — like a dull, grey cloth.
«Where did it came from?!» repeated he louder, tossing aside the journal as it was a slippery snake.
The magazine brilliance laughed gloatingly to his face.
«Well, now.» calmly asked Marmarov. «Got it?!»
«Yes. Well, no. Hmm,» he shook in head. «I understand in my heart but can't explain in words… I remember a movie where a murder was somewhat written. Later it was projected into realily. Is that it?!»
«Something like that.»
«But that was a plot of the movie. A Myth! A fairy tale …»
«Energy field of real historical events is not a myth. Zvezditsky knew about it: separated himself from any bathrooms, left Moscow out into wilderness. He was sentenced to death and was afraid.»
«By whom?!»
«By someone who has proven his ability to sculpt the event, to be conductor of resonance.»
«Unbelievable!»
«Maybe. But did fiction writers have created a matrix of other events? It works, Arseny. Alas, not only for science fiction writers.»
«And no insurance?»
«There is. Don't make faces in front of the camera, not to mention the photos such as these,» he nodded at the magazine. «Anguish and death is no excuse for ambitions. It's not the best backdrop for a photo shoot as well as lifeless, dull landscapes …».
«And what about a reporter's job?»
«Go ahead, … But, don't get yourself into a dead theme too deep. That is well known actors' principle. As a rule,» he added solemnly, remembering of poor Zvezditsky. «In short, try not to find yourself in resonance with a terrible event. It will kill you. Or cripple. I'm not kidding.»
«So who is the murderer of Zvezditsky?»
«The one who killed his wife.»
«What?!»
Tossed away magazine was picked up again. Inessa is burning in a makeup of Joan of Arc. Her eyes were imploring for mercy…
«We can't go to the police with that.»
«Naturally.»
«And what now?»
Marmarov shrugged.
«How about the astrology symbols and other tips from the stars?»
«There no many reference points. I've found the tendencies and displayed warning signs…»
«Meanwhile, killer walks free.»
«Let's hope for a verdict from above.»
«Words,» Arseny turned away, towards the window «and words only…»
«Not At All. Destruction is contagious and so for the creator of involuntary suiciders. He is doomed. The Time owns all his trump and only Time is an unsurpassed master of resonance. The Time only!»
5 years ago
It came late at night, as a dream. It was a revelation…
For a minute he laid motionlessly, shaken: so simple. And so clear, so incomprehensibly obvious.
The upper lip flinched: well why so late?! His choked, frantically swallowing the insult. Why he had to go through deprivation, humiliation, a series of divorces? To make his subconscious mind to work?! Earnestly to seek an escape, a crack, a way out! And here it is: get your award!
July 3, 2009
Award?! The Time is on his heels but the World is not conquered yet. And the killer's mask is spreading roots into his face: a grim smile is freezing the soul. The mirror like a fearless jester. I took it off! Grin of the beast tightens his skin, screwing his muscles. His face got numb in this sinister mask: neither can smile nor can sleep. The dilemma has its manner: to have your tonus in order, or the whole world on its knees. «Here we go!» he grind his teeth.
July 10, 2009.
News lines of information agencies:
…Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi has proposed to change a place of G-8 Summit from the Italian island of la Magdalena to Aquila city which has been seriously devastated by the earthquake. The Cabinet of Ministers supported this proposal (24.04.2009).
…Silvio Berlusconi invited participants of the Summit to take pictures together with the city's ruins in the background. Photo session continued today. On the photos: Berlusconi and Obama in the background of the ruins (07/09/2009) …
Gold-plated pen for a moment stood still, trembled a few times and then boldly scribbled: «Ready for print».
