Mabel Shot Part 3

"You are sick," I whisper, feeling nauseated looking at this man. "Mr. Gregovivk didn't do this."
"Didn't he?! Research it then, or better yet, ask him who killed his mother, and you'll find out who the sick one is."
I stand still, watching him walk away, but this time I don't make a move to stop him. The memories of the conversation with Sieta, at her mother's house, telling me about Melissa's death, flood my mind.
"Aunt Melissa died when Greg was still a teenager," Sieta responds, no longer laughing or mocking in her words. "There was a fire in the boat house she had at her residence. She inhaled a lot of smoke, and her lungs were severely damaged and couldn't hold on."
Greg was inside the boat house; my aunt went in there to save him...
My steps move slowly as I walk toward the back of the gallery, heading to my room, the image of his burn scar on his back merging with Boris's words. As I breathe rapidly, everything feels confusing. I grab my bag from the countertop and wander lost in my thoughts, walking toward the exit door.
"I thought you said you were going to change..." Sieta, outside, looks at my face and laughs, tossing the cigarette butt she was smoking away. "You want to go like that?"
"I thought about it, and I prefer to go home, Sieta," I reply quietly to her, holding my bag close to my chest.
"Seriously? I thought we were going out to dance..." She looks at me and shakes her head. "You're not going to bail on me, are you?"
"I-I..." I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "I prefer to go home..."
"Greg shut himself off; he changed after he got out of the hospital... He didn't leave the house anymore and didn't receive visitors. The door of the palace he lived in with Aunt Melissa was locked; Uncle Huslan was the only one who visited him." Sieta closes her eyes and shakes her head. "But that's his story; he has to talk to you if he wants to. I'm sorry, but it's not my place to talk about it."
I take a deep breath and feel more anxious, recalling her words from yesterday. She knew something had really happened, but I hadn't paid attention to it. Why was his father the only one who visited him? Didn't they live together? Why did Mr. Huslan allow his son to live alone in the house that belonged to Melissa? I hear Sieta's voice talking to me, but I can't pay attention to her, only to the loose threads of the stories intertwining.
"It was what caused her death that made Greg change, Mabel. Aunt Melissa died because of gu..." She stops at the sound of her phone ringing.
His guilt.
My brain finishes the sentence Sieta told me yesterday, but she didn't finish because the phone ringing interrupted her. Mr. Gregovivk had killed his mother, probably not intentionally. But somehow, it was his responsibility that the fire started. Boris was telling the truth then when he said it was Mr. Czar himself who set the fire, causing his mother's death.
"Mabel, did you hear what I said?" Sieta holds my face and makes me look at her. "Did you hear me say that we're just going to stop by to greet the owner, who is my friend, and then we'll leave?"
"What?" I ask quietly, still confused about everything I've discovered.
"The nightclub that opened today belongs to a friend of mine; I'm just going to stop by to give him a hug, and then we'll be on our way, it'll be quick." She smiles and releases my face. "Then I'll take you home, okay?"
I'm so spaced out, thinking about everything, that I just find myself nodding my head slowly in agreement.



***


I take a deep breath and feel my head splitting in half, along with the repetitive beat of the nightclub music, giving me the sensation of a nail being hammered into my brain. My eyes blink as I try to get used to the flashing lights, which change colors, shifting from yellow to pink, red, purple, and blue.
“IT’S GOING TO BE QUICK, OK?! I JUST NEED TO FIND HIM!” Sieta shouts near my ear, giving me a smile.
“I’LL WAIT FOR YOU HERE!” I shout back at her and point to the ground.
“ARE YOU SURE?” she shouts again, looking at me with concern. “I THINK WE SHOULD GO TO SODOMA AND GET YOU TO GREG.”
“I’M FINE!” I force a smile and shake my head. “GO, I’LL STAY HERE WAITING FOR YOU.”
She winks at me, smiles, and turns, quickly blending into the crowd. I stand by a pillar, away from the dance floor, looking lost at everyone, seeing them dancing close together, jumping with hardly any space between them. The place is stuffy, with poor ventilation, low light, and mixed odors of various perfumes, drinks, and cigarettes. I rub my temples and inhale deeply, feeling anxious about being here, as if I can’t breathe properly due to the crowd squeezing into the space. I rub my fingers over my chest and spread my palm, massaging over my heart.
I wish Macro were here, responding to my messages. There’s a wave of agitation within me, feeling like I’m being crushed by it. Macro is the only person I would turn to in a situation like this, sharing my fears and anxieties, telling him the things Czar is making me feel, how I don’t know what’s true or false, and how to act now with what I’ve discovered. Whether I should ask Mr. Gregovivk what really happened with his mother, or if I should choose not to delve deeper into the Gregovivk family world. Someone brushes past me and grazes their arm against my hip. A scent different from the others hits my nostrils, standing out among the other smells. A fragrance my brain never forgot, sending chills down my neck, alarming my body as if I had just heard a rattlesnake’s rattle. I lift my head, startled, and step away from the pillar, turning to look at a few people walking behind me. I take a step back and turn my face from side to side, hunting for the source of that smell. That damn perfume, which I would recognize even in hell filled with sulfur and decay.
“Hey, gorgeous, want to dance?” I jump, startled, as someone touches my shoulder.
The smiling guy with braces looks at me, his reddish pupils letting me know he’s drunk. I shake my head and move away from him, turning to scan the faces, feeling my heart race in pure terror. I’m sure I smelled Nate’s strong cologne. My body is crushed by a wheel of people, pushing me toward the dance floor and dragging me with them into the crowd.
“Excuse me, please!” I ask nervously, trying to get away from them, but they are so euphoric with the music that I seem invisible.
People push me as they dance, making me feel more suffocated and scared, as if I can’t move. I look around, searching for any exit, a gap to get away from them. I raise my head toward the VIP area and try to find Sieta, but the upstairs is even more crowded than downstairs. I grip my bag tightly with my fingers, feeling my nails scrape against the material from the pressure I’m applying. I see a man in a gray suit with his back to me on the right, on the upper floor, near the iron railing. His face turns slightly, glancing to the side. Just the half view of his fine nose and square chin makes a bitter taste rise in my mouth. I feel my skin lose warmth, cold sweat trickling down my forehead, while my eyes burn and my mouth trembles.
“Are you alright, miss?” A woman standing in front of me asks seriously, holding my shoulder.
“I-I...” My voice doesn’t leave my mouth, as if it were trapped inside me, unable to escape.