Then he took a deep breath, forced a smile, and stepped into Mama’s room.
She was in her usual armchair, gazing out the window but not really focusing on anything as far as he could tell.
“Mama?”
She slowly turned her head. He held out hope this would be one of those rare moments when she recognized him, but when she smiled and murmured, “Vasya,” his heart sank.
“Yes, Mama,” he whispered in their native tongue. “It’s me.”
“Only you?” She looked around, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was even seeing the room they were in, or if she saw their old house, the one they’d all fled that night before the Italians had caught up with them. The dementia had taken her so far away, he couldn’t begin to tell where she was now.
“It’s only me,” he whispered.
“Will the others come soon?”
Sergei hesitated. “Yes, Mama. They’ll…” He struggled to keep his voice even. “You’ll see them very soon.”
“Good. Good. Papa has been gone too long. They’re making him work so much.”
He struggled to keep his emotions together. Today of all days, he refused to frighten her with a confusing breakdown.
After a while, he took a deep breath. “I came to tell you something, Mama.”
She turned to him, smiling a little but looking right through him. “What is it?”
“I wanted you to know that…” He squeezed her hand. “That it’s all over now. The men who hurt us, they’re going away.” He sighed. He’d always imagined being almost giddy when he finally told her. When he could finally say the words and hope they connected to some remote part of her mind that might still be lucid, that might grab onto the information and give her peace.
But this wasn’t how he’d expected it all to play out. And even though he’d finally reached the endgame, now that it was nearly as over as it would ever be, he was just… exhausted. Relieved in a way, but he couldn’t find any joy or excitement in the amount of blood that had been spilled. Justice had been served. There was still some left, and he’d either serve that too or die trying. But now all he wanted was rest. Rest which would hopefully come soon.
He patted her fragile hand. “They won’t hurt anyone anymore.”
“Good.” Her voice was distant, as was her gaze. There was no telling if she had any idea what he’d said, what it meant. “That’s good.”
“You should—” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared my throat. “You should take your meds, Mama.”
She turned to him, looking right at him. Sergei’s heart clenched—it was one of those rare moments when she looked at him and not through him. When she was here and so was he. Maybe, just this one time…
She smiled. “When will you bring Seryozha to visit me?”
He exhaled. Damn it. He coughed again, and whispered, “I’ll bring him soon.”
“Good.” She smiled, and her eyes were distant now, as if she was looking into an entirely distant time and place. “Are you still seeing that lovely girl?”
His throat tightened, and he forced a smile. “Yeah, Mama.”
“Good.” Mama nodded and gazed out the window. “Good.”
Sergei forced back his emotions, but that was getting harder by the second. The stoic outer shell was only going to last so much longer. “Mama, you need to take your meds.” He pushed the cup of pills toward her.
She eyed it warily. “But I feel fine.”
“I know you do. You need to take them so you’ll still feel fine.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He helped her take her pills, holding the glass of water steadier than her hands could. After she’d swallowed all of them, he set the glass aside and leaned over her.
“I love you, Mama.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tell Papa and the others hello for me.”
“I will, Vasya,” she slurred. Her eyelids grew heavy, and finally closed. After a moment, her breathing slowed, and soon, her chest rose and fell in the distinctive pattern of someone who was fast asleep.
He held her hand, and with the other, took the tiny spray bottle from his pocket, glancing at the door to make sure they were alone.
Then he held his breath, waited until just before she inhaled, and sprayed the fine mist just in front of her nose and parted lips. Her features twitched a bit, probably just irritated by the moisture.
As promised, the poison took effect quickly and quietly. Before he’d even pocketed the bottle, her breath hitched. Her body tensed slightly, her fingers tightening feebly around his before relaxing again.
And he sat there, and he waited, holding her frail hand until he was sure she was gone. After her chest had fallen for the last time, he stayed like that a moment longer.
Then he carefully placed her hand on the armrest.