Chapter Text
Pale light filtered through the curtains. Anna registered that it was morning, late morning, probably she had missed breakfast. The pleasantness of a recent dream lingered, inhibiting her from rising. She was walking with Yakov Platonovich in the park. A light snow was falling; it was cold. Engrossed in conversation, the details of which were unclear, Anna’s eyes met Yakov’s. Her heart leapt, and she caught her breath. Yakov’s gloved hand reached up and caressed her cheek. Anna closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, her whole body warmed by the sensation and the nearness of the man she loved. Anna smiled at the tender thought.
Reality crept in. The worry, the sinking feeling, the almost dizzying sensation of the world moving forward while she stayed locked in place, desperately searching. It was unlike Anna to feel lost, without any sense of where to go or what to do next. Yes, she’d known times when her desires were thwarted - when her parents refused her or the spirits hid or taunted her. This was different. What could she do that she had not already tried?
Against her will, the dark shadow of Yakov Platonovich from two nights before overtook Anna’s thoughts. A cruel joke of Prince Razumovsky; he had wanted her to think Yakov was dead. Her heart beat faster, and her breath became shallow just remembering the horrible experience. Anna could not bring herself to call Yakov’s spirit to her. It was better not to know, not to have proof of his death. As empty as she felt now, Anna believed it would consume her completely, if her worst fears were confirmed.
Dressing, that’s what I’m doing. Dressing… Anna had adopted this focused step-by-step approach to interacting with the world on the day she returned home. It was too easy to get lost in grief, fantasies, and nothingness now. When she caught herself drifting, Anna Viktorovna would repeat in her mind the next step for the day. Anna, wash up, she would tell herself; Anna, eat lunch; Anna, take a walk with Papa. On good days, she completed the necessary actions without her parents questioning her state of mind or physical health. On most days, Anna would lose focus during a meal or in the middle of dressing and be startled back to the moment by Mama shaking her roughly on the shoulder and inquiring where Anna’s head was.
Anna had returned home. Was it five days ago? Anna could not remember getting in the carriage outside the hotel, opening the door to walk into the parlor, sitting down on her suitcase, or anything else. She could vividly see her hotel room, ransacked. Clothes were strewn across the floor. Dresser drawers were upside down or pulled halfway out, their contents in piles on the carpet and table. When she thought of it, the sensation of blood draining from her body and the cold chill returned. Whoever searched her room was there for one thing - the blue file Yakov had entrusted to her.
Dressed for comfort more than fashion, Anna wore her soft twill gown in moss green. The detail on the bodice and cuffs pleased her with the dainty silver swirls and leaflets. Seated at her vanity, Anna Viktorovna hesitated, took a deep breath and dared to consider her reflection. Why did it continue to surprise her - the sadness in her eyes. That was how she felt. That her face reflected these feelings should not cause astonishment.
Anna fixed her hair simply with a loose braid wound into a gentle loop such that it exposed her neck and set-off her crystal and gold earrings. Taking another look at her features in the mirror, Anna played with a smile, pinched her cheeks, and let out a sigh. She had arrived at the beginning of another day.
No one was in the hallway or sitting room as Anna passed. Breakfast was over, it appeared. Praskovya, the maid, wished Anna a good morning, as she cleared the last few dishes from the table.
“Good Morning,” Anna replied.
“Come to the kitchen, I’ll make up a plate for you, Miss.” Praskovya offered.
“Thank you, Praskovya. Just some coffee, please.” Anna followed her to the light-filled kitchen. Sunshine beamed through the two large windows making the small, warm space feel cozier than usual. The yeasty molasses smell of brown bread baking tempted Anna’s all-but-absent appetite, she grabbed a bagel along with her coffee and ambled toward the foyer and her father’s office.
She felt the presence at the same moment she caught a glimpse of a figure outside. A familiar sensation, like a cool breeze passing through her, alerted Anna Viktorovna immediately to a visit from the spirit world. Setting down her breakfast, Anna peered at the ghost; he was standing a hundred yards from the house, wearing a long-sleeved white dress shirt, gold vest, and dark tie. His dark gray trousers met the snow at the ankle. From this distance Anna could not make out facial features or the violence that caused this man’s death. Not all of Anna’s ghostly visitors bore the marks of death, but she could just make out some dark splotches on this man’s vest and crimson patches on his face and neck.
Anna hastily adorned her dark green overcoat and wrapped her head with a shawl, as she left the house to rendezvous with the stranger. The early January morning was brisk and gray. As Anna walked out the path that led from the Mironov’s front door to the street, she realized that she recognized the dead man. He was of average build, around fifty, with bushy eyebrows and a full mustache of gray. Yes, this was the man who worked with Yakov Platonovich, and who she had mistaken for Yakov in her dream and in her fruitless search following Yakov Shtolman’s disappearance from her hotel room.
Hope rose up suddenly. Could this ghost in the gold vest give her a clue to Yakov’s whereabouts?
“Where is Yakov Platonovich?” Anna spoke to the ghost.
The vision turned his ashen face in Anna Viktorovna’s direction, expressionless. He stood now only ten feet away.
“Where is he?” Anna asked again. No response from the gold-vested man. Anna Viktorovna looked around her. No one was out in the street. The woods in the distance were quiet. Nothing was moving, only Anna and her ghost.
The spirit vanished; immediately reappearing on the edge of the woods. She was meant to follow him, Anna realized. It was slow going. Anna’s stockings and skirts quickly became wet from the snow drifts she was making her way through. Moving as swiftly as possible, Anna continued chasing the visitor, not sure where she was headed, not heeding the cold and wet - the pace and effort of her journey keeping her warm.
After what seemed only minutes, but what must have been much longer - Anna’s frozen fingers and toes and pounding heart suggested traveling in the snow for quite some time - she emerged from the woods into a clearing. It was not familiar. The edge of the forest to her back, Anna peered across an empty white field where a small hunting lodge was nestled near a copse of fir trees. Anna stood at the edge of the field, looking in front and behind her for the spirit. He was gone, she could feel it.