The Past

The following day was as they always were to Mark, busy and full of things to do. Reception with a senator discussing the connection between the UK and the US, loads of phone calls to do and answering to a lot of problems on the embassy itself. The events were few and not very exciting, except from when special agent Calleys arrived at the afternoon to tell about the results of the investigation from last night.

'We have a maniac on the loose, it seems,' she said and placed some of the photos taken at the residence in front of Mark. Seems like it was more some part of a satanic ritual being done in your garden, Sir Mark,' she said. The photos showed blood spread in patterns on the tiles around the swimming pool. 'The horse itself belonged to a farmer in Michigan. Getting it here, preparing this and performing whatever ceremony it was has cost a lot of difficulty.'

'But why me?' Mark looked up at Morgan as Nicholas bent over and examined the photos before letting them back to the special agent.

'You've never been involved in any religious sect or cult?' Morgan asked.

'Certainly not! That would be like destroying my career most definitely.'

'Do you know anyone with tendencies to stray to such gatherings?' Morgan asked. Mark was speechless and could not really answer, feeling stunned and too confused to answer.

'I do,' said Nicholas silently. 'Or did.' Both Morgan and Mark looked at him as he straightened up and looked from the one to the other. 'His name's Alex Kornovsky. He's a Russian madman, escaped the Sovjet Union after being chased by the authorities for breaching laws and denying the communist government. He's never returned, he doesn't trust anyone.'

'And what, pray tell, is this Russian madman doing with a butchered horse and loads of bloody patterns all over my terrace?' Mark asked through clenched teeth scarcely able to believe what his friend said.

'I don't know, it's been more than eight years since I spoke to him last,' said Nicholas.

'The symbols, Mr Brocklehurst, do you know them?' Morgan asked.

'No, I remember seeing them in some books he had, but I don't know what they mean,' Nicholas answered and looked at Mark. 'I'm sorry, I never thought I was to see that fellow again. Having him on your tail is quite disturbing.'

'I could imagine that,' Mark sighed and looked down at the photos again. 'What'll he do next? Smear my front door in blood?'

The intercom sent out a gentle beep. Mark leaned over to the speaker. 'What is it, Sally?'

'There's been a report on seeing a strange man walking around the premises of the residence. The police where unable to catch him, but before he was discovered and ran he had luck to empty a bucket of blood on your door and doorsteps.'

Mark closed his eyes. 'Thank you, Sally, I'm sure special agent Calleys will investigate the case further,' he eyed Morgan sharply and the connection to the intercom ended. 'So, Morgan, is there a reason your men can't catch this maniac?'

'He must be extremely clever, we put guards around all of the residence!' Morgan said like she did not believe what she had just heard.

'Go and find out what's happening, maybe find someone to clean the mess,' said Mark and leaned back into the chair.

'Yes,' Morgan rose and was about to leave when she stopped at the door and turned. 'This Alex Kornovsky, where does he live?' she asked.

'Last time I checked, which is years ago, he lived in New York,' Nicholas answered, 'but I can't remember where.'

Morgan nodded and left. Mark sighed and shook his head to free himself from the immense load of disbelieve and confusion weighing heavily on his mind. He looked at Nicholas, who leaned against the table top, arms crossed and forehead creased.

'You knew this?' Mark asked.

'No, of course not! Don't be ridiculous, Mark, I had as good as forgotten that maniac,' said Nicholas.

'How did you meet?' Mark asked.

'In a bar, once,' said Nicholas. 'He's a good-looking fellow…' Mark rolled his eyes. 'Don't give me that look, Mark! Yes, we met and talked over a bottle of scotch, about everything and nothing. I accidentally slipped him my number and he called me back, the thing you least expect people to do when drinking and giving someone your number. The booze hadn't hit him at all whereas I had the worst hangovers in human history. He was an exceptional man, full of wit and wild temper, and yet he could be as gentle as a lamb. We met, it was half a year, until he began to travel abroad and we lost contact. He was already in the strange sect or cult or whatever he was a part of, he even tried to recruit me into it, but I didn't. He deserted me. Later I overheard a conversation where his name was mentioned, it was two years ago or so. He had been let out of prison in a small, European country, can't remember what it was called. Well, he had been involved with some paedophilia and a lot of greasy stuff, and as far as I could hear he was coming back to the states at that time. What's happened since then and till now is unclear.'

Mark had listened with closed eyes as Nicholas had recounted the little tale. He finally opened his eyes and looked at his friend.

'You're telling me you're acquainted with a psycho paedophile and possible maniac?' he asked.

'Once, I knew him before it all went wrong, ok? I've never had dealing with him since we parted eight years ago or so,' said Nicholas.

'Then how could you know where he lived?'

'That was then too, Mark, I have no idea about his whereabouts these days,' said Nicholas.

'What was the sect about?'

'Satanic rituals, rituals involving sacrifices of animals and rather violent sex,' said Nicholas with a heavy sigh. 'Seems like he got his ideas from there.'

'Why's he coming back here?' Mark asked. 'Could there be something he wants to finish, someone to see? And why my home?' he buried his face in his hands.

'Easy, Mark,' said Nicholas. 'Let's hope they catch him. He's none of our concern.'

Mark eyed him thoughtfully. 'Let's hope so.'