“What happened instead?”
“Orloff, a middle-aged ‘guardian’ from the nearest town, was appointed. The way he looked at Dmitri gave me chills, but I didn’t know why. I had no idea there were adults who preyed on children like that.”
Oh, no, no.
“I didn’t like how much time they spent alone. Dmitri never complained, told me Orloff was a good man. And Orloff was different from my father. The man didn’t drink, never struck us, never even raised his voice. He never spoke inappropriately.”
Just like Edward. Sometimes monsters pretended to be gentlemen.
“There was no reason to doubt his decency, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. So I went to Orloff and asked him why he was so focused on Dmitri.” Máxim hesitated. . . .
“What did the man say? Please.”
“He told me that he only wanted to be a father to the boy, that Dmitri needed to lean on him to recover from the recent loss of both his father and his eldest brother. He wondered aloud, ‘Why would you not want Dmitri to be happy? Are you that jealous?’ The man lied so believably. I can’t express how skillful he was. He made me doubt myself. I walked away, convinced I was petty and selfish.”
Gaslighting. No wonder Máxim didn’t trust.
“Over the years, Orloff slowly replaced all the servants, those who might help us, those who’d also raised their brows. By the time I was thirteen, we were without friends, trapped in our secluded home.”
Sometimes, friendless was another way of saying defenseless. “Go on, please.”
“Orloff continued to spin his tales. And again, Dmitri was his staunchest advocate. I later learned that he’d told Dmitri he’d kill me—the last of his family still with him—if anyone found out.”
“How did you discover Orloff’s lies?”
“On Christmas Eve, I sneaked into Dmitri’s room to assemble a train set I’d ordered for him. He wasn’t there. I found him in Orloff’s bed, with this chillingly blank look on his face. The man had made my brother spend the night with him, because even a sick fiend believed he should be close to his victim—over the fucking holidays.”
That was why Dmitri had been blowing up the phone that particular day. And why Máxim hated the holiday.
“I attacked Orloff, but he was so much bigger than I was. When I regained consciousness, I was locked in the basement, my back flayed.”
His back. His scars. He’d carried them since he was a boy.
Máxim gazed past me. “Orloff wanted to break me, to silence me. The position was heaven for him—living in a mansion with so many luxuries—and Dmitri there for his . . . use. The man would’ve done anything to remain. So he kept me down there. I didn’t see the sun for . . . some time.”
“Wh-what? How long?”
“Half a year.”
My lips moved wordlessly. This nightmare only grew more twisted.
Eyes gone distant, Máxim said, “He provided me little food or water, keeping me without light of any kind. When I wouldn’t break, he revealed his buried rage, whipping me till his arm tired, reopening all my wounds. In that dark place, filth and blood caked my skin.” He shuddered. “It burned, itched, tormenting me. I was starved for sunlight. The longer I went without it, the worse the affliction grew, spreading over my body. It got so severe, I would dream about not having skin at all.”
My eyes watered as I imagined his pain. So many things made sense now. His words: Thirty-one years of misery is lifted. Abused by his father first, then by Orloff. For decades later, Máxim had been haunted by those memories.
“I sickened in that dank, freezing basement, and knew I’d die down there. So I attempted to behave as if he’d broken me, but I couldn’t deceive as well as Orloff. I’d been sentenced to death at thirteen. As each day passed, my execution neared.”
I barely kept my tears in check. “That’s why you asked me those questions about my memories.”
He nodded. He’d wondered what I’d been doing—while he’d been dying.
That was why he hated winter. That was why he always wanted the windows and doors opened.
And this man called me . . . his sun?
“Worse than anything was knowing that Orloff still abused my little brother. Everyone was gone. Protecting Dmitri was my responsibility. And I’d failed.”
“There was nothing you could do. You were a boy.”
“Aleksandr said the same, though I believe he could’ve come up with some way to escape and save his brother. In fact, it was Dmitri who saved me. The night of a bitter freeze, he woke from his haze long enough to comprehend I was about to die. He knocked the man out with a shovel. My brother knelt beside me, crying . . . as I strangled Orloff. I killed him before he could ever wake.”
Máxim had been forced to do that? As a boy? My heart broke for him and Dmitri.
He gauged my expression. “My family is surrounded by death and destruction. Aleksandr killed young. As did I. Only I did it with my bare hands when the man wasn’t able to defend himself. I crept out of that basement, some dark warped thing, desperate to kill. How can you not view me differently?”
“I do view you differently. I’m staggered by how brave you were to protect yourself and Dmitri from a monster.” I wish I were so brave! I clutched Máxim’s shoulders. “I can’t feel more fiercely about this. I hate that the weight of this fell on you. But have you thought about the children you spared in that man’s future? Or the ones you avenged from his past? And since Orloff was ready to let you die, why should we not believe he’d murdered before?”