Chapter Text
Zatonsk Police Station.
February 20, 1889.
Chief Inspector Shtolman.
Yakov Platonovich,
It has taken some time for me to prepare this missive - ten days, to be exact. I debated remaining altogether silent on your denunciations. I also considered presenting myself in person to offer a collected response. In the end, I have wrestled with my thoughts and emotions through the written word - writing and rewriting. And I may yet still send the prior versions of this correspondence, with their raw and choleric criticisms. Perhaps you would find them more persuasive than this comparatively sedate reply.
Since I was a child I have been visited by the spirits of the dead. I realize you do not believe this to be true, but rather that I pretend to see such things (or possibly you think of me as simply delusional). I understand that you will do what you want with these reflections - ignoring them, dismissing them as complete falsities, placing them in the trash bin with disdain. I can only hope that you do read them and that perhaps they will soften your view of me.
There has only ever been one person, my uncle, who appreciated this gift - or a curse? Over these past few days it feels most acutely a curse. Mother, like you, believes I pretend to talk to the dead to draw attention to myself, to ingratiate myself with you, in particular. Father wishes not to discuss it. He is fearful, I think, that it evidences some type of mental instability. Others do believe in my so-called ability - petitioning me for answers from the grave, endeavoring to have me command the dead to do their bidding. And the rest, well, Yakov Platonovich, you are not the first to fling the word Monster at me. Witch! Devil! All of these are equally my name.
I sit here contemplating our friendship - a connection we had built over these few months. Realizing that it may be gone. And yet, I would do it again. I would force you to play chess with a murdered man and pull you against your will between the mirrors and recite, what to your ears is gibberish, to safeguard your life. I would do it tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, all the while enduring the litany of your indictments.
When we first met, the serious, respectful, and detailed manner in which you conducted investigations immediately engendered respect - not only from me. It was clear that all of Zatonsk took pride in the assignment of such a well-regarded and experienced detective from the capital. As is customary in small towns, however, rumors of your past fly about and the slightest odd behavior observed is cast with an exaggerated eye. I have never been one to listen to such murmurings. I have always believed in you, Yakov Platonovich. I continue to do so, even if you have lost your faith in me. Or perhaps, you never did believe in me.
With sincerity,
Anna.