Mabel Shot

“Did you hear? They paid a fortune for the shoeshine boy.”
“I heard; the buyer paid double to take him away on Saturday night.”
I bite my sandwich and raise my head, looking at the two saleswomen who enter the café room, talking.
“Are you talking about the Oslo painting?” I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin, asking them.
“Yes, the painting of the shoeshine boy was the most expensive piece at the party,” one of them says, laughing as she serves herself coffee.
“I thought no one would buy it…” I murmur to myself, remembering the painting of the boy.
The guests didn’t spend much time looking at it; the truth is that hardly anyone really looked at it, only me and the elegant lady in white gloves.
“It was a woman who bought it…” I stop, not finishing my sentence, watching them leave the café room, chatting amongst themselves and drifting away. “Bought it…”
I exhale, frustrated, finding myself alone in the room again, in silence. I look at my sandwich as I take a deep breath and lift the glass of juice to my mouth, feeling so lonely once more. Sieta had spent the rest of Sunday with me. Czar hadn’t returned to the room or home since he left. Sieta tried to change the subject, laughing nervously and avoiding my gaze when I asked what was happening, but I knew she wasn’t telling me the truth.
“One of the counselors from Sodom is arriving tomorrow, on Monday.” She smiles at me when I find her in the library drinking vodka, after I showered and left the room. “You don’t have to worry; in fact, you’re going to love both Jonathan Roy's wife, Ginger, and his sister, Baby.”
“Is it some event related to Sodom?” I ask, studying her weary face.
“No, just a visit from friends… You’ll like them.” I see her stand up and set her glass on the table next to the sofa, rubbing her neck with her fingers and turning her back to me, walking toward the window.
“Is that really all, Sieta?” I ask seriously, observing her withdrawn posture. “I know I can’t do much, but if you’re having any problems, I’d like to help.”
“Of course, that’s all it is; there’s no problem at all.” Sieta turns and walks back to me, smiling wider, extending her arm and placing it on my shoulder. “And you, how are you? I feel so…”
“No, no, please.” I shake my head, feeling embarrassed by the situation I left her in. “It was my fault, Sieta; I wasn’t feeling well; I should have asked you to go alone and take a taxi back home…”
“Something happened, didn’t it?” She steps back and looks at me more closely. “Before you left, when I saw you, you were cheerful, and then when we met at the back door of the gallery, you seemed spaced out.”
I turn my face and look at the large door of the library open. I know that if I want to find out anything about Czar’s past, it has to be now.
“What really happened to Melissa?” I ask quickly before I lose my courage, turning back to look at her.
“Aunt Melissa died; we’ve talked about this, haven’t we? In a fire, trying to save Greg; her lungs…”
“What I want to know is: who started the fire, Sieta?” Her blue eyes widen, looking at me apprehensively. “Was it Mr. Czar?”
“Who told you?” she asks, averting her eyes from mine.
“I heard at work…” I walk slowly and sit on the sofa, looking at the carpet and recalling the night he called himself the boogeyman. “So it’s true; it was Mr. Czar who started the fire?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t like people say; he would never intentionally hurt his own mother.” She takes a deep breath and sits next to me. “Greg, when he was younger, was fascinated by fire. It started with small things, dry leaves fallen from trees, striking matches…” Sieta speaks softly, looking lost in her hands, breathing deeply.
I raise my head and stare at her.

“So, what started small took on a bigger appeal. Greg set fire to a boathouse, but he didn’t get out…” Sieta pauses slightly, as if she’s going back to that fateful day. “He was mesmerized by the flames; he wanted to see the fire consume everything. A beam broke free from the ceiling after being burned by the flames and hit him, leaving him unconscious… Aunt Melissa was the one who saw the flames inside the boathouse from her bedroom window. Uncle Huslan was calling the fire department when he saw her enter the boathouse after Greg.”
Sieta falls silent, hugging herself and raising her eyes to the fireplace.
“I was there; Mom had gone to visit Aunt Melissa that day. When we arrived, there was so much black smoke that you could see the tall flames destroying everything so quickly at the entrance of the mansion. The sound of the fire trucks approaching…” She closes her eyes and gives a sad smile. “I saw her when she came out of the burning boathouse, dragging Greg. Uncle Huslan was the first to arrive and rescued Greg, picking him up and carrying him away from the fire, laying him on the grass while Aunt Melissa walked behind him. She stopped and started coughing and coughing. Uncle Huslan held her in his arms before she fell to the ground. The black smoke was already burning her airways, and she was completely pale, with a purple mouth. By the time the paramedics arrived, Aunt Melissa was no longer breathing.”
“She died in Uncle Huslan’s arms,” I murmur, feeling so much pain imagining his loss.
“Yes, she died in his arms. He withered away after losing her.” Sieta opens her eyes and looks at me. “Uncle Huslan couldn’t stand living in the mansion anymore, not when he built that whole place for her and she wasn’t there anymore.”
“He blamed Czar, so he left him alone there?”
“No, never!” Sieta wipes her red, tear-stained eyes and turns her face to me. “It was Czar’s decision to stay alone; Uncle Huslan never blamed Greg for losing her, it’s just that…”
“Czar did,” I finish her sentence.
I imagine how hard it must have been for him to live with that, with the guilt that his very soul took upon itself.
“He shut himself off, hating himself for a long time, punishing himself in that empty mansion, bittering with the guilt of having taken his mother’s life… But no one had any idea of the extent of Czar’s obsession with fire, not even he understood what he felt, not until the tragedy happened and the doctors claimed he had a fire disorder.”
“Are you telling me that Mr. Gregovivk was a pyromaniac…” I murmur, lost, looking back at the carpet.
“He still is,” she cuts in and turns her face to me. “Greg just keeps his demons locked away, but if they get too angry, they escape in a dangerous way.”
“How so? Did he set something on fire again after his mother’s death?” I ask, raising my face to look at her.
“Just one more time.” Sieta bites her lips, looking at me. “Do you remember his first submissive, the one I told you about, Gaile?”
“The girl who slept with his half-brother…” I nod slowly. I remember Sieta telling me about catching Gaile with Mr. Czar’s brother in his apartment.
“Czar didn’t go back to the apartment to get his things because he burned it down entirely; he set the whole building on fire.” Sieta lowers her voice and takes a deep breath. “It was an industrial building that belonged to him, and Greg burned it down, turning it to ashes, out of so much anger and disgust he felt for Gaile for letting Kaiser touch her. It was the only time I saw him so out of control, watching the structure burn down from across the street.”
“He really hates his brother…” I rub my face and try to imagine how two brothers can hate each other so much.
“Hate is an understatement for what Czar feels for him. Kaiser has always been a disgusting human being, even as a child.” She clenches her mouth and crushes her fist. “Just to give you an idea of the level of crap he is, on Greg’s eighth birthday, Uncle Huslan gave him a dog. Greg loved that dog. Kaiser was spending the holidays at the mansion during that time, and he killed the dog, breaking its neck and leaving it lying on Greg’s bed as if the animal were sleeping.”
“My God, how horrific…” I cover my mouth, shivering at the mere thought of the cruelty to that poor dog. “Why did he do that?”
“Kaiser is a sick jerk, and Uncle Huslan knew it, which is why he’ll never sit in Greg’s chair before the council…”
“Kaiser wants to take Mr. Gregovivk’s place in Sodom?” I ask, paying attention to the end of Sieta’s sentence.