Dark Matter [Completed]

Thirty-Nine

I thought that finding some sense of closure with Luke would let me start to move on, but I only feel more lonely than ever before. I keep telling myself that it's for the best, though. Even if, by some miracle, Luke forgave me, he could never love me. It is one thing to forgive, but another thing entirely to forget. I know this better than anyone.

In the past I could always push the chaos inside my mind away, but now it's all I can do to focus on the task in front of me. This is what it is to let yourself feel, I suppose. If only it was a simple task to regather my scattered emotions. I have had plenty of practice at doing that, though.

Still, it is often a struggle to remind myself why I'm doing this. As I get closer to finding Boris, though, I find my focus returning. The thrill of the hunt... it is a familiar feeling to me, but this is the first time it is for me. I am not doing this because another is forcing me to, I am doing this because I want to. No... because I need to. Because I promised.

Determination, however, is no guarantee of a successful mission, and Boris is no doubt the most difficult target of my career. Boris must know I'm after him because he's dropped off the map, even more than usual. He's taking no chances, but I am taking no prisoners. He can run, but he can't hide from me forever. I know everything about him.

Boris must know this, but he's not making it easy for me. The new year comes and goes before I finally get a hit on him. Just some chatter in the criminal underworld about a meeting between gang lord Anton Aryokov and a "confidential business associate" at his Moscow townhome. Totally innocuous, except I happen to know that Illych Gregorin and Aryokov are very close friends. And, if Boris was going to contact anyone, it would be Aryokov.

I am well aware that it is a long shot, but my gut tells me this is the lead I've been waiting for. It is a fairly simple process to infiltrate Aryokov's residence and hack into his security feed. It is a very clever job, but it doesn't take me long to figure out someone has tampered with the security feed. Restoring the lost footage is a little more complicated, but it is more than worth the wait.

I only catch a few glimpses of the back of his head, but I see enough to identify the mystery visitor as Boris. I doubt he's still in Moscow, seeing as the meeting was several days ago, but it wouldn't hurt to drop by Boris's townhome. Even if he isn't there, I might find a lead as to where he is now.

The last time I was there Boris hadn't installed the specially designed security measures he has at his estate, but there's no telling what he's done in the weeks I've been gone. I'll have to tread carefully.

Standing in the shadows across the street, though, the building doesn't look any different. In fact, it looks completely abandoned. Of course, I'm not surprised by that. Boris would never be so stupid as to leave such an obvious clue to his whereabouts. If the lights were on, I would be wary of a trap.

Still, I take every precaution as I slink across the street and through front door. No alarm sounds and I don't sense anything off so I continue. My best bet is probably Boris's office, which is in the dead center of the house, far away from any would-be assassin's bullet.

As I approach the door to the office, though, I see something that seems to suck the air from my lungs. A thin streak of light under the door. In any other situation there is the possibility that it is just a staff member doing some late night cleaning, but all Boris's servants travel with him. Whether or not he's in that room, Boris is staying in this house. I carefully slip the gun from my belt and walk forwards... and pass through the door.

Boris is sitting at the desk, head bent, reading something. Like a wave, all the anger and grief I've been holding in crashes into me. I should just shoot him right now and be done with it, but I just can't. This man made my life a living hell... he killed my brother in cold blood for a crime he didn't commit. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death. He has to pay.

Pressing my gun to the back of Boris's head, I whisper, "Time's up, Boris."

His only reaction is the slightest flinch. "I knew this day would come." Then, as if he doesn't even notice the gun I have pointed at his skull, he turns to face me. "Welcome back, Natalia."