Chapter 25: Phantom
After the chilling text I got, Yakov insisted we try going to the police, which we haven't done, because of the fact that the texts only hint at threats and they are sent from untraceable phones. It goes about as well as we expect, meaning the police just tell us that they can't do anything because there is no real evidence that this is Modya…although, who else would call me 'son?' I have a suspicion the police are just not motivated to help, because it's a domestic violence case, but none of us have any bruises or injuries to prove anything. It's like running into the same wall repeatedly…a complete waste of time. We go back to Yakov's place, where Maccachin and I remain with my parents until it's time to leave for the European Championships.
While it is worrisome that we can't do anything about Modya's threats, I do get to spend time with my mother. It's funny too, because we both enjoy shopping, going out to different restaurants together and dancing. I think she loves Yuuri as much as I do, although she loves him with motherly love. Like me, she can't stop talking about him, and we make sure not to miss the interview he gives just before the Four Continents.
"He looked very composed," she comments, "Sometimes when you're not with him, he can be nervous, but he seemed comfortable this time."
"I thought so too," I agree, sitting down on the floor next to Maccachin, and beside the recliner she's in, "I hope he's as composed during the competition. He tends to do well in the short program, but sometimes he gets anxious before the free skate. I wish I could be with him. This makes two competitions he was in that I couldn't attend."
"You've got your own competition to think about," she says, smiling, "I'm glad I'll be able to go with you this time."
"I'm glad you'll be there."
There's barely time for thinking as the hours count down and we get ready to leave Saint Petersburg. I'm happy that Mother and Maccachin will be coming along, although I am still worried about what Modya could be planning. Stefan, too, is coming along with us. Our trip is comfortable and uneventful, but even with Stefan's assistance, I'm on edge and I feel like I'm just waiting for something inevitable and horrifying to happen. I don't want to be paranoid, but when we attend the public practice, it's hard to concentrate, because I constantly feel like he must be there and watching from somewhere. Stefan and I have more than a couple of meditation sessions before we attend the short program competition. Thankfully, as we approach time for my group to compete, I start to go into a calmer state that I usually take on before going on the ice. Yakov and Stefan are with me at rinkside as we await my turn and both are gently encouraging.
"Try to put everything out of your mind but this," Yakov says, looking into my eyes, "You are the best talent on the ice here. Your programs looked perfect in practice. You are ready."
"You are going to do well," Stefan adds, "just keep your focus on why you are here. You told me that you love the ice, the music, the motion. Try to enjoy that."
"I will," I promise as I step onto the ice, "Thank you both."
I head out to center ice, aware of the fact that Yurio is leading with a score in the hundreds, and both Georgi and Andrei have scored personal bests. It doesn't make me worried. I don't usually worry about the other skaters' scores…although admittedly, I am glad that Yurio's score is not very close to his world record score. Without Yuuri in the competition, it's not as easy for him to feel motivated. I'd like to say I put as much pressure on him to try harder, but he still doesn't see me as the level of threat to winning as he sees Yuuri.
I feel a little insulted.
I take my position on the ice, breathing slowly and feeling relaxed. There is a bigger crowd here than there was at the Russian Nationals, so the cheering is loud. The music begins, and my mind goes into the state it always does when I compete. I let the music flow through my ears, into my body and let it move me. Everything disappears but the connection between the music, my body and the ice I dance on. The theme of my short program is "Innocent Lies," so my movements are carefully scripted to radiate that feeling and my expression is composed, but bearing hints of sadness and regret. In a few places, I close my eyes briefly, but I never lose track of my exact position on the ice. After so many years of skating, I could almost skate my programs with eyes closed. That is how much I feel at home here.
The performance goes well in the first half, and I hear sounds of appreciation at my execution of the step sequence. I can barely keep from smiling at how different it feels since I studied Yuuri's approach to step sequences and was able to improve mine. I almost get a feeling like he's with me as I perform it, then move into a high difficulty spin combination. That's another place that I've improved because of the time I've spent with Yuuri.
I exit the spins and gather speed, heading across the ice and positioning my body for the first jump. Everything is going beautifully, but as I begin the jump, my eyes are distracted by a person standing near the end of the rink where I am heading.
Time seems to slow down for me as it registers in my mind that I am looking at Modya Nikiforov.
Only days now, son.
You will see the light.
There is nothing I can do as intense fear grips my body while I'm in the air and my timing is thrown off. I over rotate, but I manage to land without touching the ice with my hand. I can't look to see if I really saw him there, because I've already screwed up on a major element in my program and any other mistakes will pretty much take me out of the running for a place on the podium. I take a calming breath and push it out of my mind, managing the rest of the program without any further mishaps, but I'm haunted as the music ends and I steal a glance at that place where I thought I saw him.
Did I imagine it?
It must have been my imagination, and that being the case, I need to get my mind back under control if I want to win.
Yakov waits for me in the kiss and cry, and he doesn't hold back on his thoughts about my performance.
"What the hell kind of jump was that? Where was your head? Were you daydreaming about that boyfriend of yours? You've got to stop pining over him."
"I wasn't pining!" I complain.
"Then, what was wrong with you? You were fine until that jump, then in a moment you went to hell. What happened?"
"Eh…?"
I can't tell him the truth. He and Stefan will probably think I'm nuts. No, I need to keep quiet about this, and just…not think about Modya. Probably all that happened was that I was worried about that because of the threats. I thought I was under control, but it was bugging me more than I realized.
I can't get paranoid. If I do that, I'm not going to be able to skate properly. Yes, I just need to not let myself be distracted with those worries.
I hear Yakov growl and see the scores for my short program. I have third place by the skin of my teeth behind Yurio and Andrei, with Georgi mere hundredths of a point behind me.
Ugh…well, it's not like I've never made mistakes and had to come from a third or fourth to take the gold. I know how to maximize my points in the free skate. It will be fine. Still, it's awhile before Yakov is done yelling at me and we leave the competition. I avoid the other skaters who came with us and go back to my room. Stefan comes up with me, and we have dinner in my room.
"Are you all right, Victor?" he asks.
Of course he's going to notice. I don't know what to say to him. Should I tell him what I thought I saw? Maybe he can calm my fears about it. I'm sure this isn't abnormal for someone who is facing a dangerous situation, right?
I trust him.
"Are you upset about that jump?" he goes on.
"Not really," I tell him, "There is a reason why I faltered and messed it up."
"Oh?"
"I didn't feel comfortable telling Yakov, but I think I should tell you. As I was entering the jump, I thought that I saw Modya, standing near the end of the rink, watching me."
Stefan frowns worriedly.
"You saw him there? Why didn't you say anything? If he was there…"
"That's the thing," I say hesitantly, "I'm not sure if he was really there…or if maybe, I was just unnerved by his threats and I just imagined him there."
I feel terrible confessing something like that, and I'm sure he's going to tell me I'm going crazy or something, but Stefan always tries to understand me. He's encouraging, and we spend more time doing relaxation exercises before I go to sleep. But neither that nor a phone call from Yuuri seem to take away the unease that's hanging over me. I sleep very poorly and I don't eat well the next day, but he works with me constantly, making me happy and relieved he's there. By the day of the free skate, I feel much more relaxed, and pretty much convinced that it was just nerves before.
Having screwed up my short program, I'm in third place entering the free skate. I've avoided watching the news stories about the competition and what I'm sure were a lot of speculations on whether or not I'll be taking a spot in the world championships. I won't let myself be intimidated by speculation. My body is in good shape and I have worked hard on my programs. I feel ready to prove that. When it's my turn, I smile and move out onto the ice, determined to win.
My opening moves go perfectly, and I sink into the music, letting it radiate inside me, then feeling it guide my movements around the ice. I'm perfectly focused as I nail an early spin combination and earn sounds of delight from the crowd.
"That was a perfect spin move and I'm sure that it will go over well with the judges," The commentator says.
"This is just the kind of performance that we've come to expect from Nikiforov, and despite the hiccup in his short program, I can see him pulling off a win tonight, if he keeps up this quality of skating," his companion adds.
My first jumps go well also, and my step sequence earns excited cheers. I'm well on track to overtake the two skaters ahead of me as I head into the buildup to the quad loop. But suddenly, I again spot someone at the end of the rink, and as I start to make the turn to go into my jump, something in the person's hand emits a blindingly bright light that shocks my eyes. It's too late to stop, because I've already launched my body into the air…and now, I'm unable to see at all.
There's a reason that flash photography is strictly off limits at skating events. The bright light if it occurs close enough to the performing skater can cause what is called flash blindness. Depending on what causes it…a laser pointer, the flash on a camera or something else, the blindness can last anywhere from a few seconds to forever. But caught in the beginning of a jump and with scant seconds to react, it's enough to bring on disaster, no matter how long the blindness lasts.
Usually, when I make a jump, I can execute the rotations without conscious thought, but with the shock of that bright light and the instant burst of adrenaline it causes, it's impossible for me to pay attention to my position or revolutions. I am only aware that my inertia will carry me into the rink wall if I am unable to turn as I land. But I've even lost track of when to expect to touch the ice again. It's a terrifying feeling as I feel my body dropping and there's nothing I can do until I feel the ice again.
Even as fast as things are happening, I know I have no choice but to try to land flat footed to give myself the best opportunity to recover. But even doing that, I'm off balance when I do make contact with the ice, and I know instantly that I'm not going to be able to recover. I'm moving at high speed and unable to execute a turn. I'm going to hit the wall hard and the only thing left for me to do is to protect my head as my body collapses onto the ice and slides, out of control into the wall.
The impact is unforgiving and the sound in my ears is chilling. I feel sharp pain explode in my right shoulder, side and hip, and even though I'm pretty sure I didn't hit my head, there's such a heavy jolt, I'm not sure how I remain conscious. I hear gasps, and then some screams.
There's something strange that happens in the aftermath too. I'm not sure why, but as soon as my body is fully stopped, pure adrenaline brings me back to my feet. I can feel right away that something is horribly wrong with me, but my mind stops working and a sort of fight or flight instinct takes over.
The music has stopped and I still can't see properly. I stumble and I don't know where I'm going. I hear Yakov yelling something and the sounds of more than one person skating towards me. All I can think of is that I want to get off the ice under my own power.
My vision begins to clear, and I see that I've left a trail of blood on the ice.
Shit, this is bad.
My legs shake harder and I try to find the exit to the ice, but then my legs collapse under me, and I start to fall. Someone catches me before I hit the ice and I hear Georgi's voice, then Yurio's.
"We've got you."
"Don't move too much. Let us do it."
I can see now the blood running down my right arm, and the initial shock is wearing off, so I'm beginning to really feel the pain. Two medics wait at the edge of the ice, and as soon as we reach the edge of the rink, Yakov is there with my blade covers. He slips them on and takes the side Georgi was on to guide me away from the ice and into the evaluation area.
"Yakov, I s-saw Modya! He was the one who flashed the light."
"Modya," he repeats, "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
He snaps something in Russian to Maret, who runs off then.
"Be careful of his right side," Yakov warns the medical personnel who meet us in the examination area, "He hit the wall on that side."
He helps me onto a cot and I lie on my back, staring up at the white ceiling and trying to catch my breath. My head and right side throb so badly it brings tears to my eyes
God, I hope nothing's broken!
One of the medics gets to work right away on my bleeding arm, cleaning it and bandaging a nasty looking gash while the other looks for other injuries. Unlike out there on the ice, the evaluation area is quieter. There's a TV monitor, so I watch as the medics peel away my bloodied costume and begin to examine me.
"You can see it happen right here in the replay," the commentator explains, "It's clear that there is someone standing at the end of the rink, near the wall. You can see the flash just an instant before Nikiforov turns and begins his jump."
"There's no time to abort the jump," says a second voice, "and despite doing everything he can to minimize the impact, he hits the wall dangerously hard."
"It'll be surprising if he is able to return to the ice after this. You can see how shaky he is when he gets up."
"I think it's just adrenaline that's working there. He's obviously disoriented and he has to be helped off the ice."
"Under the rules, the medics will determine if Nikiforov will be able to resume skating, then if he is able, he will be given a rest period."
"I don't think we'll be seeing him return. It's obvious from the playback that he is very disoriented and was barely able to walk."
The medics bare me to the waist, then slowly examine me from head to toe. One of the two looks into my eyes, giving me a sympathetic look.
"Mr. Nikiforov, can you see me properly?"
"Yes," I manage shakily, "I couldn't see anything after the light flashed, b-but I can now."
"That's good."
He glances at the other medic, then back at me.
"You had a concussion recently?" he asks.
"Yes, about a month ago."
"Hmm, it looks like you may have another."
"I protected my head."
"Well, you look dazed and you still seem a little disoriented."
"I just ran into a wall while flash blinded. Can you blame me for being a little disoriented?"
"Well, your sense of humor seems to have survived. That's a good sign," he says, giving me a smile.
The medic examining my right side presses somewhere on my ribs and I take a hissing breath and curse in Russian.
"I'm sorry, Victor. Can you take a deep breath, please?"
I breathe in deeply, but have to groan a little because it causes some aching in my side.
"I don't think this is a break. It seems like it is probably just bruised ribs."
"Lucky me," I mutter.
"I'm going to move your hip joint a little," he says, taking hold of my right leg and bending gently, then pushing it towards my body, "Tell me how it feels."
"It fucking hurts!" I snap at him, "Stop that!"
"Can you describe the pain?" he asks, setting it down carefully.
"It feels like some asshole just moved my sore leg and if it didn't hurt, I would kick him with it."
"He seems much more lucid now," the guy by my head snickers.
"We have some soft tissue damage here," the other medic reports, "but I don't think anything is broken. For safety's sake, I think we need x-rays of his right shoulder, ribs and hip."
"Mr. Nikiforov," says the guy I wasn't just yelling at, "do you think you can stand?"
"I think so."
The two of them support me carefully as I get onto my feet.
"Take a few slow steps."
I manage the steps, but pain radiates in my right side and hip.
"My side and hip hurt…a lot."
"Is the pain an aching or a splinter-like feeling?"
"Aching."
"Can you breathe in deeply again?"
"Ugh, it hurts, but I can."
"How is he?" Yakov asks as the two medics finish looking me over.
"I don't think anything is broken," one of the medics responds, "but I would not recommend having him continue. He has badly bruised ribs and may have a grade 2 concussion. There's some tissue damage in his right hip, and any further stress would worsen that. I recommend having him transported for x-rays."
"I don't want to go to the hospital," I complain, "I'm fine. You said that you don't think anything is broken."
"Well, we can't be sure without an x-ray."
"I'll go home and rest. I don't need to go and do all of that."
"You need to be quiet and do what these men say!" Yakov snaps at me.
"Yakov, don't yell at me. I hurt all over," I whimper.
"Then, be quiet and do what you're told!"
"Who are you, my mother?" I joke.
All of a sudden, I feel a jolt inside.
"Vitya, what's wrong?"
"Mother? Where is Mother?" I demand.
"She's fine," Yakov assures me, "As soon as you mentioned Modya, I had our bodyguards take her to the car. They'll wait for us there."
One of the officials from the event enters the evaluation area.
"Coach Yakov, do we have a recommendation yet?" he asks.
Yakov gives me an apologetic look.
"Victor is going to need some x-rays and further assessment. He will have to drop from the competition."
I knew it was coming, but it still hurts almost as much as my injured body. I still don't want to go to the hospital, but Stefan accompanies me, and he keeps my spirits up as I'm examined again, jolted and jostled until I feel dizzy and sick while they x-ray me, then taken to a waiting room where I can't even lie down while we wait for results. It turns out that there are no breaks, but the doctor prescribes some pain medication and sends me back to the hotel to rest. It's late when we get back, and Yurio, Mila and Georgi are waiting for us as we arrive.
"Well?" Yurio says in an impatient tone, "What happened? Is anything broken?"
"No," I tell them, "It's a minor concussion, some pulled muscles and bruised ribs."
"We listened to the news all evening," Georgi tells us, "They didn't catch the bastard who did this."
"They showed a picture picked up by security cameras, but it was fuzzy and the guy had his face partially covered," Mila adds.
"Well, I don't need their cameras to tell me," I say in a low, pained voice, "It was definitely Modya."
"So, will they arrest him now?" Yurio asks, scowling.
"I don't know," Yakov says, rubbing his chin, "I'm not sure what will happen, but one thing is sure…we are going to have to be even more careful now."
We say goodnight to the others and enter my room, where we find Mother waiting with our bodyguards. She hugs me carefully and Maret accompanies me to change in the bathroom. His expression is regretful.
"I'm sorry, Victor," he apologizes, "I tried to figure out where he might have gone, but I didn't see which way he went, and even the security footage wasn't very helpful."
"You did your best," I sigh wearily, holding on to him as he helps me into my pajamas, "Thank you for trying."
We go back out into the room and Mother tucks me in, then she and Yakov leave with one of the bodyguards, leaving two to watch over me while I sleep. Stefan remains in the room after everyone else leaves. He watches as I sit up on the bed, looking unhappily at the bottle of pain pills.
"Are you going to take them?" he asks, "It's all right to take prescription medication, as long as you follow the instructions."
"I know. I will. I was just waiting for Yuuri to call. He texted earlier to tell me he would call."
The phone rings and I smile and answer without looking at the incoming number.
"Yuuri!"
"Victor," Modya says, making me freeze and my eyes widen, "I'm done playing with you. Tell her that she has to come back. I will give her three days, then if she does not come back, I will kill you in front of her."
There is a click as the call ends. Stefan watches me closely.
"Victor? Was that him? Was it Modya?"
"Yes," I tell him, determination coming back into my eyes, "he wanted to issue an ultimatum, but now we have proof of what he's doing. I have been having my calls recorded. We have a record of this threat. We can stop him by getting him arrested!"
The phone rings again, but this time, it's Yuuri.
"Victor, I saw the reports and video on TV here! Are you all right?"
"I'm going to be fine," I reassure him, "I had to drop from the European Nationals, but I'm still qualified for worlds, based on my win at the Russian Nationals."
"Did they catch the guy who flashed that light at you? Was it Modya?"
"It was Modya. I saw him. But, they didn't catch him," I explain, "Don't worry, Yuuri. He made the mistake of calling me directly to threaten me again. I'm passing it on to the police. He won't be able to do anything without getting caught now. They're going to catch him, Yuuri. They're going to put him away this time!"