Sofia's Curse

Sankt Petersburg

Rambling the moonlit streets of Salem in the hours before dawn always reminds Leeroy of the past. It's been his routine for as long as he can remember. Salem Riverfront Park is filled with acres of open green space. It is just what he needs to clear his mind.

He stops to look at the Willamette River and seeing a drop of rain fall into it, making a thousand of miniature water circles brings him back to the rainy night of when he first encountered his one and only love.

And so he shuts his eyes, drifting into an April night of 1516...

Luther walked the craggy stoned streets of Sankt Petersburg in his black long raincoat, facing the pavement, as he usually did, when an engraved lady tissue fell into a puddle in front of his feet. He looked at it and the rain was making hundreds of circles in the puddle. 

"Oh my, pardon me," he heard a pleasant female voice as he bent down to collect the white silk tissue with blue edges. K.X.M. was engraved at the bottom right of it, in blue letters.

"Here you go, madam," he said and laid his eyes on the fragile dark haired girl in front of him. Her eyes were chocolate brown. It wasn't common to see such a woman in Russia. Usually they were light haired and blue eyed. He slightly narrowed his eyes reaching his hand out. Suddenly, his day got better. This chocolate cookie was a topping on his blood ice cream. 

"Thank you," she said grasping the tissue, brazing her fingers with his in the process. "Sometimes I'm so clumsy I wonder how I still have all of my limbs," she smiled goofily, giving him a slight wink and stepping aside to continue her way down.

If only he had let her...

"What does K.X.M. stand for?" He asked grabbing her elbow gently to stop her.

She turned with a seductive playful smile on her lips. Fragile? he thought, what was I thinking?

"Sir, are you trying to ask for my name or have I lost my mind?" A gleam appeared in her eyes as she posed the question.

Definitely not fragile, he thought.

"I beg you to excuse my bad manners, miss," Luther gave her a serious nod, "I'm Luther O'Connor, and I'm only worried about your wellbeing at this time of the night," he held his palm out for her to put hers into it. He wanted to sense the smell of her skin. He bet it smelled like chocolate, too.

Instead of putting her palm into his, she lifted her chin poignantly. "No need to be worried, Mr. O'Connor. I can manage to find my home just well on my own." 

He slipped a smile, but didn't retrieve his hand. It stood reached out, like an obvious invitation into his world of secrets and dark. If she takes it, he thought, it will be her choice to enter.

His eyes never left hers and they sparkled with wickedness just slightly as she put his hand onto his palm. "Katrina Markova, pleased to meet you," she said as Luther kissed her hand. "O'Connor..." she narrowed her eyes, "if you weren't this dark, I would've thought you were British."

He chuckled, letting a rare sound leave his throat. "An impeccable vision and hearing, Miss Markova," he noted, "I do come from England."

"Hmm...I bet you stand out from your people. I hope it doesn't get you into trouble during uprisings," she said it, but lifting her eyebrows it seemed more of a question. He got the feeling that she wanted to know about his character, something he wanted to avoid talking about.

"I think you would know a thing or two about standing out..."

"I know two or three things about getting into trouble, too."

His lips curled. "How deep a trouble can you get in?"

She put her tissue into her petite bag, and bored him with her eyes. "Do you dare to find out?"

He chuckled dismissively. She had no idea who she was talking to. "I do love a challenge, Miss Markova."

"You haven't told me if I was right."

"About what?"

"Uprisings. Do you participate in them?"

He slightly creased his forehead. She talks from above, she wears rich clothes, and she is worried about his political loyalty. She must be a member of the royal family. "You haven't answered my question either."

"Which one?"

"I asked for your name, but you never said what the letter X in K.X.M. stood for."

Her lips twisted playfully and the smile reached her eyes as she whispered, "You said you liked challenges...well, let this be your first one," she said and left him before he could think of anything witty to say.

He wakes up, and the trace of a smile on his face swiftly disappears.

He would spend days guessing her middle name. She had said she would tell him when and if he guessed correctly. Since she was Russian, he knew it started with an H, because the letter X was a Cyrillic form of writing the letter H. So, he thought it was Helena, Hana, Heidi, Henrieta, Helga...but he never guessed it.

Katrina X. Markova... What a woman. The woman that stole his heart. Heart that he thought was unable of love. He never, in all his lifetime, met a lady like her after that day. She exceeded all of his expectations, and he felt as if she played with him all along. And there is only one thing that bothers him more than the fact he never found out what the letter X stood for. 

Her betrayal.

#

Too much has happened today. Christopher feels mentally exhausted, yet unable to fall asleep. There is a Macbook power-cord peeking out an opened drawer besides his bed. He fishes it out and looks for a laptop. It has to be somewhere around here.

He opens the second drawer, but only finds some old newspaper. Suddenly, it dawns on him. He should do an internet research on the O'Connor family.

He opens the last drawer, but inside, there are only some college books and pencils. No luck.

He wishes he had a smartphone.

He goes out of the room and climbs the staircase to reach the second floor. He remembers Wade told him his bedroom was the first one to the left, and that they can call him if they need anything. He knocks on the door.

"Come in," he hears Wade's voice.

Chris enters and finds Wade seated in front of a computer.

"What's up?" he asks seeing Chris.

"Were you hoping it was Vic?"

He chuckles. "She'd definitely be softer for the eyes, yeah. What do you need?"

Chris scratches the back of his neck. "I was wondering if there's a laptop I could borrow?"

"Oh," Wade looks around his room, "No, I don't have one here. But you can find one in the living room downstairs. Should be on the table in front of the big sofa."

Chris nods. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"Yeah...don't mention it," he says, but Chris knows his sister and he are unwanted guests here. Besides, Sophia knows where they are hiding now, and she made it clear that she will not keep it a secret.

Walking down the stairs, he wonders if she was serious. She killed their mother, for one. On the other hand, she had an opportunity to kill them twice by now, but somehow saved them instead. He doubts she would tell Leeroy about their current premises, but still thinks it would be reckless to stay. They should definitely move.

He sees a Toshiba laptop lying on the big thick khaki carpet instead of the table, and hurries to pick it up before somebody else has its hands on it. It is obvious Sophia won't give them the answers, so he needs to find them on his own.

He sits on the couch and lifts his legs on the table, opening the laptop. 46% is written next to the battery sign. That should be enough.

He opens Google Chrome and types in Leeroy O'Connor.

Damned social networks, he thinks. All the results are from f*******:, LinkedIn, and Twitter, and he doubts the Leeroy O'Connor he's looking for has either of those.

He clicks on the Advanced Search feature and limits his search so that social networks are not included in his results. Then he clicks enter again.

This time, something useful appears. A page named records.ancestry.com. And another one, saying that the O'Connor surname originates from Ulrich. He opens both of them and skims them carefully, yet hurriedly. All the Leeroy O'Connors in the Ulrich page were born between 1800 and 1831, having had wives named Ruth, Rhoda, and Finette.

This is no help, he thinks as he skims the other page. How is it possible that the O'Connor family is so successful and rich, yet there is no information whatsoever on them online? Then it dawns on him. They value their privacy. He probably pays for it to be protected. He will never find something useful online.

He closes the laptop and takes a deep breath. He will have to go to their house.