The wind was a howling wolf, creeping closer; the predatory snarl of it louder with each breath he took. The bitter, freezing air seeped into his bones until he knew he would never be warm again.
But it was the dark that he hated most. The inky blackness was so complete, so absolute; it surrounded them till he knew he couldn’t discover, would never find the way out of this hole. The dark was his undoing, and he prayed for light in any form, the welcome glare of daylight, the pale glow of moonlight, the flickering flame of a candle, a bare electric bulb.
They were in the warehouse near the dock, the only relatively safe place they’d found on their first night out of the orphanage. Pieter had cried piteously for a time, but then he’d collapsed into sleep and Vlad had kept watch.
He hadn’t been Vlad then. He’d been Ivan, the name the wardens of the orphanage had given him because he had been too young to know his own name when he’d been found and brought in. He’d stopped puzzling over the idea that a child would not know his own name long ago. What name had his mother given him? Who knew? Surely not his father’s when apparently his parents had not remained together any longer than it took to create him. Pieter, then Pavel, also had the same mother, Irina, but everyone doubted they’d had the same father. Ivan had been overly big and tall for his age where his brother, though younger by only a year was slight of build, so much more a baby.
Vlad had taken it upon himself to rename them both. In part, it was a protective measure in case they were missed at the orphanage. What a joke. It was a certainty the authorities who ran the institution would quickly conceal their flight if Vlad and his brother were not found.
So he’d named Pieter after the port city they were escaping and for himself he chose Vladimir. To the boy he was, Vladimir seemed a powerful and strong name, not a plain, bread and water name like Ivan. And, most important, it was a name he gave himself, not the one foisted on him without any say from him.
Vladimir and Pieter were the names he gave the Captain of the tanker Grigory when his sailors hauled them out of the hold days later. By then, they were starving. They’d managed to eat what Vlad stole from the galley at night, and by then they were too far out to sea for the Captain to want to wait for the Coast Guard to return them to St. Petersburg.
By the time they reached port in Finland, Vlad convinced the Captain they could be of some use working on the ship and they’d stayed aboard; Vlad saved every cent of their modest wage since they’d beds and three square meals provided for them.
Years later, when applying to university in England, he’d concocted a story of losing all of his vital records in a fire. At that moment, Vladimir Grigory was born.
****
Sabrina stirred slowly, unwilling to give up the sweet sleep of exhaustion. But Alex was awake, and he sounded upset, a bad dream no doubt. She fought through the heavy waves that kept her anchored to the warmth of her bed. She’d settle him and snuggle back under the covers in a moment.
Sabrina opened her eyes to the unfamiliar space. It took a second before rational thought reminded her where she was.
He lay on the sofa at a right angle to hers, muttering loudly in his sleep with arms stretched wide. His eyes remained closed. The quilt had tumbled onto the rug, and she could see his chest, covered in only a T-shirt, heaving with each breath he took. As she watched, he grew more agitated, arms flailing, speaking—was that Russian?—until she knew she had to awaken him. She couldn’t bear to see him in such turmoil.
“Vlad, hush, you’re having a bad dream.” She knelt next to the sofa, repeating the words, small hands stroking his hair and his forehead, hoping the action would pull him back from his nightmare. She smoothed her hands lightly along the corded length of his arm and across his tense shoulders until the insensible words faded.
Then she sat in the corner of her sofa, knees drawn up under the blanket, and stared into the flickering embers of the fire, contemplating what demon chased the big, strong, mysterious man beside her.