Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books.
Modern, no powers AU. POV Mal
Warnings for: kidnapper/captive – kidnapping – implication that Alina may have Stockholm Syndrome / been brainwashed – dubious consent because of the kidnapping and possible Stockholm Syndrome – stalking – murder – some dead dove do not eat – a twisted kind of HEA for Alina and Aleksander – Mal being drugged and unable to fight back as Aleksander digs his grave and buries him alive.
This story includes Mal's belief that Alina has been brainwashed by Aleksander (hence the warnings in the tags) but since we never get Alina or Aleksander's POV, it is up to the reader to decide if this is actually the case. Of course, as Alina was kidnapped, this adds a whole other dynamic and issues of dubious consent. Basically, you can decide how dead the dove is in this story.
Alina is humming as she paints, the stress she's been under recently seemingly washed away.
Mal hopes she's had good news. She's been working all hours of the day and panicking about supplies and applying for all the grants and art prizes she thinks she might be eligible for so that she can finally have the funds to get some decent canvasses and paints.
"How was your day?" he asks as he washes his hands in the sink, scrubbing at the dirt under his fingernails.
He's lucky that the university is so close to the large Os Alta Forest, and that they agreed to take him on as a paid employee despite the fact that the hours he can work are limited to those outside his class time – it's a dream job for him, really, although sometimes when he gets back to the apartment, he wishes they had something better to clean up in than a kitchen sink that only works about half the time and a shower that tends to turn freezing after barely ten seconds of hot water.
"It was wonderful!" Alina turns and gives him a sunny smile, paint on her t-shirt and cheeks, and even in her hair, "we had a visit from a super-successful alumnus, one of the university's biggest donors. I wasn't sure about him to begin with, he seemed more like the kind of guy to donate to the Economics or History department, but he knew so much about art and he really seemed to like my work. And, can you believe it, he even bought one of my pieces – it was only a little thing, I spent about two hours on it, very rough work, basically just shadows and light – and he paid me $500."
Mal's eyes widen. They can fix the shower with that, get Alina the art supplies she needs, buy groceries for the month without having to watch every cent quite as carefully as they normally do.
"I only asked for $50," she continues, shaking her head like she still can't believe it, "it's not anything close to my best work, but he insisted on paying me more."
"You deserve it, Lina," Mal grins, sweeping her up into a hug, so pleased and proud for his best friend.
"It's a sign, Mal," she sighs in happiness, "good things are coming for us, I'm sure of it."
A month later, Mal gets home from football practice to find his best friend sitting at their battered kitchen table, staring at a black velvet jewellery box like it is a snake poised to bite her.
"Shouldn't you be at the coffee shop?" he asks.
She shakes her head, "I went for my shift and the manager told me that my boyfriend had called up on my behalf to quit."
Mal frowns. Alina doesn't have a boyfriend. Her only proper relationship has been a classmate of hers called Alexei, and Mal knows the quiet, decent blond would never presume to call Alina's workplace like that.
"They've already got someone else so they won't re-hire me," Alina continues.
She tries to sound like she doesn't care, but Mal can see the way her brow furrows as she tries to work out what they'll have to give up to afford their rent for the month – even with the money they have left from her painting sale, they're going to struggle.
"That's bullshit," Mal rages, "they can't just take the word of some random guy like that."
She only shrugs, "I rang the library when I left the coffee shop," she tells him, referring to her second job, "and they'd had the same call. Then I got back here and this was waiting for me, right on the table."
She opens the velvet box and spins it around so he can see what is inside.
It's the weirdest-looking necklace he's ever seen … no, not a necklace, more like a choker or a collar. Shaped almost like pieces of antler melded together, all in gold and studded with diamonds.
That is … well, it's more than a little alarming, even if it is clearly extremely expensive.
True, stags are kind of Alina's thing when it comes to her art, just like her use of gold paint, but that doesn't mean this is anywhere close to acceptable.
"Who sent it?" he asks.
Alina sighs, "I don't know. There was just this."
She shows him a piece of glossy black card with gold writing on it.
I'll see you soon, zolotse.
"Because that's not creepy at all," Mal mutters sarcastically, but he turns serious as he realises how genuinely freaked out his best friend is.
"Have you had anything like this before, Lina?"
"Blue irises two weeks ago," she admits, "and again a week ago. Then, a few days ago, I had a parcel of art supplies sent as a gift."
"And you don't have any idea who sent this stuff?"
Surely, it can't be a stranger. Whoever it is, they know Alina's favourite flowers, how badly she is in need of new supplies for her painting, and that stags are one of the things she most loves to sketch and paint.
She flushes slightly, "at first, I thought it might just be Nikolai or Zoya – you know how generous they are, but they always just give things to me in person. I … there was this guy, at the art show earlier this month. He never spoke to me, and he stayed in the shadows the whole time so I never even saw his face, but I'm sure that he was staring at me and he seemed really intense. Someone mentioned he was a donor and art enthusiast. I don't know his name, though."
"Maybe we should move apartments?"
Alina shakes her head, "you know we can't, Mal. We got so lucky with this one – we'll never find somewhere else we can afford, especially not now I'm going to have to find other jobs."
"We should call the cops then," he insists, "the bastard broke in to leave that box for you."
They both know, however, that it isn't that easy. They'd probably just be laughed at if they reported a break-in where the intruder didn't take anything, but just left an expensive piece of jewellery behind. And the cops rarely take stalking cases seriously, not until it is too late.
"I'll pick up a few more shifts," Mal tells her, "we'll get an extra lock for the door. And you should try not to be alone, at least as much as possible."
"It will be fine," Alina says, "I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding."
She's trying to sound convincing, but Mal has known her far too long – he hears the tremor in her voice, sees the way she shakes almost imperceptibly. She's worried and trying to hide it.
Later that evening, they curl up on the couch and watch a light comedy, trying to forget about the day's events.
They can't avoid thinking about it forever, but for two hours, at least they can pretend everything is normal.
Alina and Mal both go to campus the next day, travelling together and splitting up for their different classes.
As agreed, Alina messages Mal every few hours.
Everything is fine to begin with. She attends all her classes, then meets her friends at the library to study, finally going to the art department to work on one of her pieces.
At 6.07pm she texts him to say she's on her way back to their apartment in an Uber (an expense they won't be able to manage for too long, but Mal has insisted she not walk back when none of her friends can go with her). The journey should take less than ten minutes.
He never receives a message to let him know she's arrived back.
When he returns to the apartment at 7.03pm, Alina is nowhere to be found.
He has to wait to file a missing person's report.
It appears that a nineteen-year-old girl being less than an hour late back to her apartment doesn't warrant any sort of alarm.
Mal tries to explain that these are exceptional circumstances. Alina would have told him if she was taking a detour, and if she wasn't then she would have been back before he was. He tells the officer who takes his call all about the strange presents Alina has been receiving and how a man claiming to be her boyfriend has been interfering in her life by quitting her jobs and claiming it was on her behalf.
The officer doesn't make a joke like Mal had worried she might, but she does say there are countless reasons Alina might be late and that he should call and speak to the night-shift staff if Alina hasn't turned up by midnight.
But Mal knows she won't come back, feels a bone-deep certainty that something is very, very wrong.
He paces. He goes out walking to look for any sign of Alina. He calls all her friends to check if they've seen her.
There is no sign at all.
As soon as midnight arrives, he is on the phone again, insisting on filing a missing person's report.
The cop carefully takes all the details down. However, his attempts to offer comfort by remarking that Alina is likely to turn up soon enough just serve to irritate Mal.
He knows Alina. The only reason she isn't home right now is because she cannot get here.
"It's that man," he insists, "he has something to do with this, I'm sure of it."
"I don't think we can consider kidnapping yet, sir. There weren't any threats, were there?"
Mal repeats the information about the gifts and the ominous note.
"And you're sure that Miss Starkova wasn't perhaps dating this man. Maybe she was uncomfortable telling you? If the two of you were dating and she was seeing another –"
"We're best friends," he half-shouts down the phone, "like brother and sister. Lina and I have never dated. She was very clear that she the gifts were unsolicited and they were starting to freak her out."
"Obviously this is distressing for you, Mr Oretsev, but these gifts seem more like the work of an anonymous benefactor than a kidnapper –"
"You don't understand," Mal grits his teeth, trying not to scream out in frustration, "Lina didn't know whoever was giving her these presents. She didn't ask for them and she was uncomfortable with their appearance. Can't you just look into this man, the one at the art show?"
"I'll look into it, Mr Oretsrv," the officer promises, "but it may not be considered a helpful avenue of enquiry. Since Miss Starkova is unable to watch the footage and identify the man in question, we wouldn't …"
Mal tunes the rest of the explanation out. He's got the gist of it, that they won't look into the art show, that they "don't believe it is relevant to Miss Starkova's disappearance."
He gives them his contact details, demands to be kept updated and then hangs up.
Mal takes a deep breath and then slams his fist into the wooden table, the sharp stab of pain a welcome distraction.
"Fuck," he mutters, "fuck."
To give the police some credit, they do come to the apartment to interview Mal.
He hands over some photos of Alina, explains that the anonymous gifts have vanished from their apartment but that everything else of Alina's is untouched, tells them that when he tries to call her mobile he just hears a message that the phone has been disconnected, and gives them as much information about the situation as possible, repeating what he told the cop on the phone.
They're sympathetic, admitting that the circumstances do not suggest that Alina just took off of her own accord. They've spoken to the university and Ana Kuya, Alina and Mal's foster mother, who have all confirmed Mal's statement that Alina is dedicated and serious about her studies, not the flighty sort likely to vanish on a whim.
Still, it is clear to Mal that they don't have any idea where to start. They're stubbornly determined that it won't do any good to investigate the art show event, that their focus should instead be the security camera footage from campus on the evening Alina vanished. Mal agrees that such footage could help, but he's got a gut feeling that they won't find anything useful, that it would be better to try and find the mysterious man who had stared at her at the art show.
Mal knows Alina has good instincts. Foster kids are vulnerable to negative influences, seen as easy prey to be enticed into a life of crime or drugs or prostitution, and both Mal and Alina had learned to be vigilant, to know when someone was watching them with bad intentions. Alina had been seriously worried about the guy she had spotted at the art show, and that was enough for Mal to think that he was bad news.
Frustratingly, though, it doesn't seem like anyone else agrees with him.
Fine, then. Mal will cooperate with the police investigation, hoping they'll find Alina, but he won't be idle, won't allow his ideas to be dismissed.
He's going to find his best friend, no matter how long it takes.
To:
From: campussecurity
Subject: Security footage and guest list request
Dear Mr Oretsev,
We herewith acknowledge your request to view footage from the Sun & Shadow Art Show that took place on May 3rd in the Morozov Centre on campus. We attach our privacy policy and requirements to release such footage. Please note that your request does not fit the required criteria.
We also refer to your request that we forward a guest list to you for the above event. We regret that we are not able to release this due to privacy and data protection concerns. In addition, please be aware that, while invitations were issued for this event, it was also open to walk-in visitors.
We note that there is an open police investigation regarding Alina Starkova's disappearance. However, unless the Os Alta Police Department contact us with the appropriate warrant, we are not able to release any information.
We are sorry that we are unable to assist you in this matter.
Campus Security
Os Alta University
Everywhere he goes, Mal brings the posters with him.
They aren't fancy, just a picture of Alina, her details, Mal's phone number and the website and email address he's set up specifically for tips on Alina's location.
MISSING. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL?
He puts them up in clubs and bars and stores, all over the campus, wherever there is space.
Tips come in drips and drabs, some of them genuine and others just nasty lies that make him want to rant and rave against the cruelty of humanity. None of the tips ever pan out, though, but Mal carries on, hopeful that one day something useful will appear.
Alina is out there somewhere, he's sure of it. He just needs one lucky break and maybe he'll find her.
"It's Genya. I know you're there, Mal, stop ignoring me. I miss her too … I miss her so much it hurts. But it's been over three years and you can't keep living like this … Alina wouldn't want you to waste – no, wait, I don't mean it like that – she wouldn't want … she'd just want you to live, not drive yourself crazy. Call me … please."
Message deleted.
He's obsessed with finding the man.
The man.
The one from the art show.
Mal is sure that man is the key, the catalyst, the reason.
If only he knew who the bastard was.
Years pass.
He graduates by the skin of his teeth, far too focused on his search for Alina to do more than the bare minimum of studying.
Sleepless nights, stressful days.
Missing posters plastered everywhere, a website set up pleading for information, trawling through countless (mostly useless) tips hoping to find something helpful.
He has help to begin with. His and Alina's friends, all worried about her, searching anywhere she might have gone, looking through Jane Doe autopsy reports when Mal can't bear to do so (because he isn't sure he can take it if one of the descriptions matches Alina).
Eventually, though, they pull away. They have their own lives and start to tell him that he has to move on, that Alina wouldn't want him to spend his whole life in a futile search.
They don't know what Alina would want, though. She isn't here for them to ask.
They've had friends, throughout the years, but their only constant support has been each other. Like brother and sister, always watching out for one another.
If it were Mal who had vanished, he knows Alina wouldn't rest until she found him. She deserves the same from him.
It doesn't matter that the police are calling it a cold case, that their friends don't think there's hope … none of that matters because Mal is still searching.
He'll find her. He will.
It takes a little over five years from the day Alina vanishes, but eventually Mal gets lucky.
A newspaper article with photographs from a small town's famous spring festival, a slightly blurry figure in the background.
It's Alina, Mal's sure of it. Her hair may have been dyed an odd platinum white colour, but he knows her face.
He's finally found her.
He asks vague, subtle questions when he visits the town, not wanting to arouse any suspicion, makes multiple trips to the forest, the tracking skills he's honed since he was a young child coming in extremely useful.
All his preparation is carefully done. He knows he'll probably have only one shot at this and he doesn't intend to waste it.
The cottage is deep in the woods, miles away from any other humans.
Not a dilapidated shed or a tiny, cramped little thing, but large and sturdy – three stories, stone walls and a thatched roof, flowers in every colour of the rainbow all around, a pile of logs in a woodshed and ivy growing up the walls.
Picture perfect, really, although not at all the sort of home he would expect of the wealthy stranger he's convinced is responsible for Alina's disappearance.
The man left twenty minutes ago, Mal only spotting the back of his head as he drove away in an expensive Land Rover.
All he has to do now is break the door down, which can't be too hard considering it looks like a simple wooden thing.
Unfortunately, it proves more difficult than he anticipated. However simple this door might appear, it has clearly had some more modern security features added.
Mal curses, stamping his foot in frustration. He's so close to Alina and yet he's still being thwarted.
He thinks of trying the windows, but a cursory glance suggests they are just as secure as the door. The cottage might be the image of a rural escape, but it also has the security features of a paranoid man's city penthouse.
And then he hears it, a voice he knows, a tune that's familiar.
He hops over the fence, pleased to find this method of entry is open to him, and walks slowly around the side of the cottage, eyes widening when he sees her.
Alina.
There, right in front of him, just a few steps away.
She's hanging colourful quilts out on a washing line, singing an old lullaby she'd once sadly told him was the only thing she remembered of her parents.
He stands there, just watching as she picks up the empty basket and turns around.
And then his gasp slips out involuntarily, shock and confusion and blinding anger.
Her loose summer dress covers a rounded stomach.
Alina is … pregnant. At least six months along if her size is any indication.
She catches a glimpse of him and her eyes widen, "Mal! What are you doing here? How did you find us?"
No … this is … it's far worse than he ever imagined.
She's not chained up in a basement, as he feared she would be, but that's a small mercy when he realises what her kidnapper has done, how he must have forced himself on her.
"Lina," he breathes out, "Saints, I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner. I'm here now, though. We can call the cops and they can catch that scumbag and lock him up."
A puzzled and frightened look crosses her face, "what are you talking about, Mal? I don't need to be rescued from Sasha."
Mal takes a step forward, frowning in confusion when Alina takes a corresponding step back, "he kidnapped you, Lina. I've been looking for you for five years."
She shakes her head, "no, you don't understand, Mal. Sasha brought me here to take care of me, so I didn't have to worry about rent or essays or jobs, I can just paint and draw as much as I like and we can be together, a real family."
She caresses her stomach tenderly, a soft smile on her face.
And now he sees what he'd missed in his initial shock over her pregnancy – around her neck, resting on her collarbone, is the gold antler collar studded with diamonds that had freaked her out so much five years ago.
Mal wants to be sick.
It's like some nightmare, an alternate universe. This isn't his best friend, it can't be. She has to be brainwashed, confused.
He opens his mouth to try and make her see reason, when he hears the sound of a child's incoherent babbling.
"Oh," Alina drops the basket and hurries for the cottage's back door, which is slightly ajar.
Mal follows her, hoping that perhaps the cottage's interior will give him some more information about what Alina has endured these past five years.
Instead of a dark prison, though, the door takes him into a large kitchen, blending rustic charm with modern technology. Perfectly normal and offering no evidence that anything is out of the ordinary in this cottage.
There is a pile of pretty blue and white china dishes on the breakfast bar next to a state-of-the-art coffee maker, and he can hear the whirring sound of a dishwasher. The appliances, fridge-freezer and oven all look to be top-of-the-range, while the wooden cupboards are covered with black marble countertops. It all looks like it's right out of a home design magazine.
Alina is kneeling carefully over into a fancy wooden playpen, cooing at a little girl about two years old, "it's alright, Irinochka, mama's here. I can't pick you up right now – mama has to be careful because of the baby – but papa will be home soon and then you can have your favourite story."
Mal is speechless.
Not just a baby on the way, but a little girl that must have been conceived around three years ago.
She's got Alina's eyes and mouth, this child, but her other features are unfamiliar, belonging to the father that Mal has spent five years wanting to rip apart.
Papa will be home soon.
"Lina, we have to go now," he tells her, surging forward to pick up the toddler – he can't quite work out what he feels about Alina having children with her kidnapper, but he knows she wouldn't dream of abandoning her daughter.
"No! … Mal, what are you doing?" she asks as he reaches for Irina, batting his hands away and planting herself firmly in front of the playpen, "this is my home, I'm not leaving."
He shakes his head, "you're not well, Lina. He's done something to you, messed with your head. We have to get you away so that you can get better and be safe."
"I'm safe here," she insists, "with my husband and my children."
Husband, Mal thinks, no, it can't be.
There is obviously something very wrong happening here. Mal had counted on Alina's cooperation in her own rescue, but if he has to fight her in this then he will, since it is for her own good and he's sure she'll understand when she's back in her right mind.
He doesn't get the chance to move, however, as a low, furious voice cuts through the silence.
"I suggest you stay exactly where you are, Mr Oretsev. If you decide to ignore my warning, I can assure you that you will be dead before you can lay a finger on my wife or daughter."
Mal looks to the doorway, where a tall, darkly handsome man stands there with a menacing look on his face, and feels his stomach drop in dread.
The man is certainly good-looking, Mal has to admit. He must be about two decades Mal and Alina's senior, his hair threaded through with silver, but he still looks strong, arm muscles rippling, clearly capable of doing damage.
There is a gun in his hand, pointed unflinchingly at Mal's head, "do you really think I would leave my family unprotected, Mr Oretsev, that I wouldn't have a way to know if some unwelcome visitor came calling?"
The windows and doors had been obviously protected, but Mal remembers that he had easily climbed the fence and found Alina in the garden – there had been no sign of alarms, but they had clearly been there, some tech Mal hadn't managed to spot.
"Oh, Mal isn't unwelcome, surely, Sasha," Alina interjects, cuddling her daughter close, looking anxiously between them both, "he's just confused. He doesn't understand."
When the man looks at her his entire expression softens, an emotion in his eyes that Mal would call love if he didn't hate the man with his whole heart and think him a manipulative, dangerous monster.
"Perhaps you are right, milaya," the man murmurs, looking at Mal with black, contemptuous eyes, "maybe Mr Oretsev just needs some time to come to terms with things. I'm sure he'll realise how happy you are here."
Mal wants nothing more than to slam his fist into the face of the man in front of him, the man who has holstered his gun as if he no longer considers Mal a threat, the man who is wrapping a possessive arm around the best friend Mal has spent five years searching for.
"Please, Mr Oretsev," the man looks up and flashes Mal a shark's grin, "won't you stay for dinner?"
-x-x-x-
The awkwardness at dinner is punctuated only by little Irina's cheerful babbling, the girl happily ignorant of tension between the adults at the table.
Mal would like to say that Aleksander (Alina has formally introduced them, and he carefully notes the name, wondering if one of them will drop a hint of the man's surname to make it easier for the police to nail the bastard) is a terrible father, neglectful and cruel. Unfortunately, such an assessment would be entirely incorrect.
Aleksander is in fact a doting father, talking to his daughter in a gentle manner, smiling warmly at her, feeding her carefully, making her giggle with funny expressions and by tickling her feet.
And many would call him an affectionate husband. Always looking at Alina, touching her, engaging her in conversation, paying attention to what she says as if her words are gospel. To Mal, though, it seems simply like Aleksander thinks he owns her, a possession to be cosseted and kept locked away in a gilded cage for him alone.
Alina, though … she just can't seem to see how wrong all of this is.
She leans into Aleksander's embrace as if he isn't the man who fucking abducted her. She lets him rock her child in his arms as if he's a normal man rather than an obsessive kidnapper. She looks at her so-called husband as if he is absolutely wonderful. She tells Mal all about all the lovely things he's done for her and how perfect he is as a husband and father.
It sickens Mal to hear his old friend talk like this, as if Aleksander is a saviour and the love of her life rather than the man who ripped her away from everyone who knew and loved her and kept her hidden away in a cottage in the middle of the country's largest forest.
He can't listen to this …
"What the hell, Lina!" he shouts, abruptly cutting off her story of how Aleksander had driven for five hours to find the exact brand of chocolate she was craving during her first pregnancy.
Irina bursts into tears at the noise and Aleksander shoots him a look of such deathly loathing that it makes Mal shiver.
Alina turns to him, her gaze reproachful, "don't upset my daughter, Mal. Even if you were worried about me, that doesn't give you the right to barge in and disturb my family."
"Your family," Mal hisses, "he is a brainwashing, dangerous kidnapper, Lina, not an ideal husband."
Her eyes fill with tears and, Saints, he remembers seeing her crying plenty of times over the years – over idiot boys, when other kids had been cruel, even when watching a sappy romance or that one scene in Bambi when the fawn's mother is killed – but Mal has never, ever been the cause of her tears before this moment.
He feels terrible, despite the fact that he's just trying to make her see the truth.
Alina busies herself with clearing up the empty plates. Mal tries to catch her eye, but she ignores him completely.
Aleksander runs a soothing hand over his daughter's head and then turns to Mal, "I think it's time for you to go, Mr Oretsev," Aleksander says in a stern tone that brooks no refusal.
Mal waits for Alina to protest, to ask him to stay, to try and understand why he's so worried about her.
When she says nothing at all, Mal sees Aleksander's eyes glitter in triumph.
-x-x-x-
Alina takes Irina up to bed, refusing to look at Mal, and Aleksander shoves him out of the back door and into the garden.
"I want to see her," he demands.
The exhaustion of the day is catching up on him. He has a pounding headache and his mind feels a little fuzzy, but the one thing he knows is that he's not leaving without knowing his best friend is safe.
"I think my Alina has made her position quite clear," Aleksander says with smug satisfaction.
"You absolute bastard," Mal surges forward, ready to knock out the man in front of him.
It's not arrogance to think he can take on Aleksander. Mal spends a lot of time at the gym and various fight clubs, working out his aggression and frustration over the constant dead ends he's come up against in his search for Alina. He can certainly hold his own.
He misses, though.
And not just by an inch or two, but totally off, swinging wildly to the side and nearly falling over.
Something is wrong. He feels off-balance, vision blurry. He sinks to the ground, trying to stop the world spinning.
Aleksander's face is blurry, but Mal can see the bright white flash of his teeth as he smiles.
"What … what …" Mal slurs, "what've you done?"
"Just a little concoction I've kept on hand for a case like this. You should lose feeling in your limbs in, oh, about two minutes."
"Whatthefuck," he mumbles.
"You can't imagine I'd let you leave," Aleksander laughs incredulously, "not after your threats of going to the police. Of course, there would be no conviction – my sweet little wife would explain the misunderstanding and they'd be tripping over themselves to apologise to me and detain you for wasting police time – but I wouldn't dream of putting darling Alina through that sort of stress, not when she's carrying my child."
Mal tries to sit up, but his head spins and he just falls back against the grass, squishy and slightly damp from earlier rain.
He can make out Aleksander's tall figure a few metres away, a shovel in his hand as he digs a hole in a section of soft soil – a patch not yet filled with flowers – near the fence.
This can't be happening. This is the sort of mad series of events that occurs in a crime novel, not real life.
"Li … Lina," he mumbles.
She'll come. She'll witness what this psycho is doing and she'll stop him.
"I'm afraid you won't be seeing Alina again," Aleksander tells him, "our daughter's bedtime routine is quite complex – there's a bubble bath, then a few stories, finished up with a couple of lullabies. By the time she's done you'll be gone."
He says the last word with a chilling kind of finality.
"Of course," Aleksander continues, "Alina will be devastated to hear that you stormed off, refusing to accept her choices and swearing you never want to see her again. No need for you to worry, though, I'll make sure to comfort her thoroughly."
Fuming, Mal tries to move again, but Aleksander's prediction has come true – he can't feel his arms or his legs, numb all over.
And then there's a tightening in his throat that is making it harder to breathe
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
It hits him. He's going to die here, having found Alina but being unable to save her from the monster who has ensnared her so thoroughly that she fully believes that she is in love with him.
Time passes.
It feels like seconds, but he thinks it must have been at least half an hour when Aleksander strides over and rolls his body roughly across the grass and right into a deep pit.
His grave.
Mal is lying in his very own grave.
He can't move, can't scream, can't try and escape.
No, he can only realise that this really is the end – no last-minute rescue, no waking up from a nightmare, just the cold and dark reality in front of him.
"Goodbye, Mr Oretsev," Aleksander looms above him, "rest assured, I'll take good care of Alina."
It is the last thing Mal Oretsev ever hears before the drugs take full effect and he drifts off into a sleep from which he will never awaken, entirely unaware of the piles of dirt – with a sprinkling of seeds – being slowly shovelled on top of his rapidly cooling, still body.
The next spring, blue irises grow on his grave.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.