BESERK! Read online

  Zhukovsky was surprised to be addressed as Victor. Was the bereaved woman losing her marbles?

  Then he saw her smile bashfully. “I know you are not Viktor, yet Zhukovsky, but when I put his soul in you…you will become him!”

  Zhukovsky tried to rip the cord in rage, violently quivering the chair.

  “Don’t be angry Zhukovsky. Let me explain, besides, I am going to kill you now and put my Viktor’s soul in you.” She laughed unexpectedly, running her finger on the edge of the knife.

  For the first time Zhukovsky felt the wisps of fear creep in him.

  “Actually it is not me; it is Anna who is to do it. You know Anna, don’t you? That sweet old thing… She lives right in your neighborhood.”

  Of course, he knew Anna! She was a senile old spinster who did quirky things. Like throwing faeces on cars parked too close to her house. Nobody in their right mind took her serious.

  “Anna has promised me...” Olga continued “to do so when her sister Farzana returns from her trip.”

  Zhukovsky groaned inwardly. Farzana had died less than a week after Viktor. Yet Anna went about speaking as if she was alive. He now felt pity for Olga as well as fear. This woman needed urgent help. He began straining at cords of his hands. If only she had not duct taped his mouth!

  “Anna just informed me today that she needed a corpse to put Viktor’s soul…” She sounded breathless.“Let me explain to you. On the day of Victor’s funeral, unable to bear to see my tears, she promised to get my Viktor back. But before that could happen Gevorg died, I think it was Friday the 9th of this month.”

  Zhukovsky tried signalling her to remove the tape but she went into a bout of recollection and continued. “I knew I could not lose him too. If I could get back Viktor, surely I could get back my Gevorg. It meant preserving his body in the refrigerator. At least he would have his own body instead of somebody’s corpse.”

  She smiled contentedly, pleased with herself. “From that day onwards I did a lotto show the world that Gevorg was alive. I created a dummy of him…putting my own hair for it so that it looked real. I even fooled you and Nikita with that fake snoring and talking. I had it recorded on the cell and played it as a ring tone whenever either of you were around.” She stopped to laugh jubilantly.

  Once again she looked at Zhukovsky and sighed. “But then you came along and threatened police action and see what you have got into…Before you go I want you to know something…”

  She moved closer to Zhukovsky and he cringed, she reeked. All the while he had been unconscious, she had been drinking.

  Her eyes were on him but she appeared not to be seeing him. They appeared glazed. “Viktor I have something to confess. I am really sorry for killing you. It was I who pushed you down the stairs. On that day I believed you were leaving me for that bitch Liana and I could not bear it. I was jealous, drunk…and furious. I could not control my anger…” She was on the verge of tears. “It was only later I came to know about the will and I regretted. So I began striving to get you back…” With that she broke down.

  The happenings on that fateful day were coming back to her…She remembered calling out to Viktor, desperately. But he quickly slammed the door and hurried out. She continued to sob for a few moments. All of a sudden anger burst in her. She swore angrily under her breath. He could not just walk out on her. She had given the best years of her life to him and now he was leaving her. He had not even cared for their ailing son, all he cared for was that whore Liana. All these thoughts made her furious. If she could not get him nobody else would! She stood up with murder in her heart and began walking to the door.

  Opening the door to a slit, she peeped out. Viktor was gripping the wooden banister, steadying himself. He looked around and shouted at something unseen. “Stay away from me you Bitch!”

  Then he stopped and listened. Olga too watched silently, not knowing what to do but sure of her objective. Once again he was shouting at something unseen. “Just don’t try to stop me Bitch! I will not obey you any longer!” Waving his fist in the air.

  Again he was listening. Then, he began at a slower pace.

  Silently, Olga slipped out and cautiously followed Viktor. As he reached the top of the stairs she could see he was feeling woozy. A plan had formed in her mind. She quickly slipped towards him. But all that vodka had made her clumsy.

  Just as he raised his foot to climb down the stairs, he heard her… a soft rustle behind him. It instantly alarmed him.

  Before he could turn around she rammed him with her shoulder in the centre of his back.With a muffled scream he rolled down the long flight of steps. It continued till his head crashed into the marble floor at the base of the stairs.

  She could see him lay there in shock, a kind of exhilaration hit her, she could not help giggling. With an effort he opened his eyes. His sight was blurred in blood. He just managed to catch sight of her. He was trying to speak but found it difficult. “See you in hell, Bitch!” He mouthed.

  “See you in Hell! Bastard!” She answered from above to him.

  Leaving him there lying in pain, blood gushing from his forehead, she strutted back to the room….

  Olga appeared to be in a daze, the fear in Zhukovsky had multiplied several times. Especially, after hearing the killing of her husband. This woman had indeed gone crazy; He tried harder to break the bands but only dug deeper in his wrists. Also causing the chair to tremble slightly, he immediately regretted it.

  The sound alerted her; she looked up sternly at Zhukovsky. She held the kitchen knife, now even more purposefully, making Zhukovsky struggle harder. Now it did not matter if she heard it or not. She moved towards him, her eyes expressionless. It made him began to struggle even more violently.

  Just then behind Olga he saw a small figure. It was of a young girl, Nikita. In her hand she held a heavy skillet, the same Olga had used to hit him. The girl put a finger to her lips, signaling him to keep silent, slowly she tip-toed towards Olga.

  The woman must have seen it in his eyes for she started to turn behind. Nikita swung the skillet, slamming it on the side of the woman’s face.

  The blow caused Olga to stagger a bit. Zhukovsky could see it had only managed to stun the woman. Holding her bleeding head, with one hand, she gripped the knife tightly with the other. A crazy look crossed the woman’s face, one of amusement and pain. It looked dangerous. Almost mechanically she began turning to her attacker.

  The girl behind her appeared confused and afraid, unsure of what to do next.

  “Hit her girl, hit her…Hit her again!” Zhukovsky urged silently but urgently.

  Almost obeying Zhukovsky’s silent urging, the girl swung the skillet like a badminton racquet. It caught the woman square in the face. The woman staggered drunkenly backwards.

  Screaming insanely, Nikita swung the skillet, hitting Olga again and again till she dropped the knife and fell to the ground in a heap.

  Only then she stopped screaming and hitting the woman. She stared wildly at the inert bloody form, gritting her teeth angrily.

  Zhukovsky rattled the chair violently, breaking her stare. He signaled with his eyes towards the knife. It lay close to the fallen woman.

  Now all anger disappeared from the girl to be replaced by fear.

  “Get the knife, girl!” he screamed from behind his duct taped mouth. The girl moved closer, warily as if nearing a reptile. Keeping an eye on the woman she hesitantly bended down and quickly grabbed the knife. Roughly, she ripped the tape from his mouth and cut his binds.

  As he stood up Olga moaned. Stretching out her hand she grasped Zhukovsky’s ankle. He made a fist ready to punch her but stopped. Her face was bruised, a trickle of blood oozed from her head.

  “Please…please Zhukovsky please…don’t take my son away…” she begged.

  Zhukovsky leaned closer to the distress woman, trying to avoid the blood. “Even I have a confession to make Olga…”

  “Come on…Hurry up!” Nikita c
alled urgently.

  “Go girl I will join you.” Zhukovsky ordered

  “What is it?” Nikita asked, “Come, she is crazy!”

  “Stupid bitch! Did not I tell you to get out?” he snapped.

  Nikita shrugged her shoulders and ran out, eager to get away from this madhouse. Zhukovsky once again turned his attention to Olga. She was still begging, grasping his ankle. “Please don’t take my Gevorg away… Zhukovsky …Please Zhukovsky…”

  “Like as I was saying. Olga, I have a confession to make…” Zhukovsky sneered in her face. “Vicktor never fell for Liana, it was I who sent her to ensnare him. Good you killed Viktor; I can take his property…besides you will be arrested for the murder of Viktor…”

  Olga’s pleading eyes were now filled with pain.

  Ruthlessly Zhukovsky continued. “Gevorg never suffered from cancer Olga…I had his medical report changed…!”

  “No…no…” She cried in disbelief.

  “No, no Olga, there is more…don’t start crying!” he appealed mockingly.

  She looked at him helplessly, oblivious of the pain or blood.

  Zhukovsky looked intently at her. “I kept supplying Gevorg with lethal drugs through Karim and Nuri so it could kill him…The drugs were supposed to kill him within two months. When it did not, I came here to check out under the pretext of signing some papers. But your clever trick fooled me, until today. But thanks to you everything is okay.”

  He could see her swooning, probably from the loss of blood. Wresting his ankle from her grip, he kicked her hand and walked to the door.

  Behind him he heard her thready voice “Zhukovsky whatever has happened does not matter. Please don’t let the police take my Gevorg away… Please Zhukovsky…”

  “He is dead. You are going to jail! Who will look after his stinking corpse? Not me. I will feed it to the dogs.Everything is over!” He looked at her, she appeared pale.

  Just as he closed the door, he heard a loud wail of despair and grief. He smiled at himself contentedly, smoothing his shirt and trousers before continuing. He had to hurry and inform the police then reclaim the property. Never had he dreamt it would be so easy to get back his property. He began whistling as he walked down the corridor towards the stairs.

  Lost in his thoughts he failed to hear the door open and Olga emerge. She looked a fearful apparition; face bloodied and swollen, part of her hair plastered down with blood. Her eyes held no pain, fear or helplessness. Now they were alert and wild like a predator, they trailed the broad back of Zhukovsky. Carefully she stole behind him.

  Just as he reached the top of the stairs to descend, she barreled into his back with a roar. She hit him with a force of a battering ram. Caught by surprise he doddered for a moment, and then lost his footing, rolling down the flight of stairs.

  He slammed his head hard on the marble floor below. For a moment it knocked the wind out of him. Shit! He swore angrily. Olga is trying to kill me! He looked up the flight of stairs; she was nowhere to be seen. “Hiding huh, Bitch” he called.

  When it was received with silence he taunted “I am not Viktor to die with one push. I am still going to the police.” He tried to sit up but felt a jolt of pain in his knee. It had to be a sprain, no broken bone. He eased himself on his good leg while he called again. “Olga do you know what they do to unclaimed corpse?” he jeered. “They slash and hack up the body and do all sorts of experiments on it. Then finally the organs are cut haggis-like…”He stopped abruptly; Olga had appeared at the top of the flight of stairs. She held high up in her hands a heavy metal pot.

  “Please don’t do it!” Zhukovsky begged. Insanity was writ on her face.

  “Let’s see what they do to your stinking corpse? This is for Viktor!” Olga screamed and flung the pot down on the begging man.

  Zhukovsky screamed and struggled to avoid it. But the pot smashed into his hip. A howlerupted from him as excruciating pain shot through him. Tears burst in his eyes. He knew it had broken bone. Through blurry sight he sought Olga.

  She was standing up there. Her sight caused Zhukovsky to scream in terror. Olga stood there with another potted plant, a smaller earthen one. But he knew it was more lethal than the larger one, for with his injured hip he could barely move.

  Zhukovsky begged once more. “Please don’t do it Olga! I swear I will keep my mouth shut! I will also not go to the police! Mercy…mercy”

  Down below there was the sound of running footsteps. Help was arriving.

  “Too late Bastard!” She screamed back. “What mercy did you show to my Gevorg? Nothing! Zero! Now you are getting it back! This is for Gevorg!” With that she flung the potted plant at him.

  “Mercy…mercy…!” He cried in terror.

  The pot smashed against his head, silencing him. He lay there, part of his head caved-in with the impact, blood rapidly oozing from it.

  Olga looked contentedly at Zhukovsky’s inert form and smiled. Gevorg was avenged.The sound of footsteps sounded louder, it made her hurry she had to protect Gevorg.

  Chapter 8: Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  The police took half a day to gain entry into the flat. Olga had barricaded the door with her body. The police found her in a chaotic state. She was covered with blood and was hysterical and raving insanely about bringing her son back to life. When they did not pay attention she tried to attack them. At last she had to be sedated.

  x x x

  Old Mustafa threw up when he heard about the corpse kept with the food in the fridge. He also threw away the last piece of baked salmon fish. From now on the thought of food made him sick. He wondered when he would be able eat his next meal.

  x x x

  Yuri was the last of the policemen to leave the place. It was his job to lock and seal the flat. For one last time he went through the rooms to check. Everything was in place. A silence settled through the place, filling it with melancholy.

  Such feelings were often experienced in places where violent deaths occurred. Satisfied, he headed out. Just as he reached out he heard a sound. A distinct sound of footsteps. He stopped, entered and listened.

  Moments later he opened the door to exit, again he heard a sound. This time it sounded like a giggle. He was not the one to get spooked. “Who is there?” he opened the door and shouted. “Come out or I will arrest you!”

  Viktor‘s photo frame hanging on the wall rattled violently.

  Yuri did not wait; he rushed out, slammed the door shut. Locked and sealed it. Then he was running down the stairs. By the time he reached down his hands were trembling visibly

  THE END

  7. Code Among The Apaches

  Chapter 1: Code Among The Apaches

  Arizona

  The Apache raid was swift and clean. Four white soldiers struggled in their death spasms. Throats slit, gushing blood was quickly leached up by the thirsty desert floor. The Apache marauders worked with urgency, quickly hauling the corpses inside the adobe building. Others worked to wipe up any signs of the skirmish or their presence. The stagecoach would be arriving soon.

  The stagecoach was the lone moving object on the desert floor. Two guards rode with rifles drawn on the roof of the stagecoach. Their eyes were red-rimmed with the dust and heat. By continuously scouting the sun blasted cacti dotted landscape with their sights. The white hot sun did not seem to bother them. For they were riding through Apacheria-Apache land, where a hint of relaxation could mean death.

  A joyous shout from the guard atop the stagecoach caused anxious eyes to seek the terrain ahead. Far in the distance was the welcoming glint of metallic blades... Windmills! The silvery blades whirled lazily in the hot desert sun. Sucking precious water from the bowels of the earth with every whirl they made. The windmill stood sentinel over a squat, sienna colored, adobe and timber structure. It served as the stagecoach station—El Stringo.

  The approaching stagecoach was not acknowledged by the station’s workmen, this worried the new arrivals. Something was amiss.
The stagecoach halted and the driver slid out a rifle. Without a word the two guards alighted. The passengers—four men and a woman sat petrified having enough sense to remain silent. The horses moved restlessly, the scent of water close by attracted them.

  The stagecoach stood in the desert’s deep silence. Only the rhythmic metallic clicks of the twirling windmill blades disturbed this silence. The desert landscape has its own brand of silence. Akin to its barren landscape, tawny colored sand, dotted with yucca and prickly pear cacti. All this flanked by the cloudless blue sky, stamped by the white fiery sphere of the sun.

  The trio moved to the station cautiously. Guard no#1 headed towards the adobe’s entrance. While the other two followed as backup.

  Inside the coach fear was the strongest emotion. The passengers waited, the desert waited, expectantly.Only the incessant dripping water from the faucet into a man-sized wooden trough sounded.

  The female passenger tried to divert her mind to the cheerful silvery trickle of water into the trough...The trough remind her of a coffin. Just as she began to reprimand herself of her negative thoughts, she choked on a gasp of fear. A dark skinned figure arose from the water filled trough.

  The vibrant buzz of blowflies told Guard no#1 what lay inside the station, nevertheless, he walked in.

  Dark and drenched, the figure stood in the trough, raised an arm and flung a dagger. Just as it caught the stagecoach driver between his shoulder blades the female passenger got back her voice, she screamed.

  Guard no#1 jerked his head towards the scream and so failed to see a pair of legs smash into his chest. He hit the wall as an Apache swung down and buried a tomahawk into his chest.

  The driver began to fall and Guard no#2 turned his rifle to the trough. A patch of ground exploded into a shower of sand and a sand covered apparition shot out. A knife flew and hit Guard no#2 painfully in his belly.

  One of the male passengers tried to grab the coach’s reins to ride away. Two arrows struck the leading horse in its neck, causing it to rear up violently, unsettling the other. Within seconds they were surrounded by men.