“Why did you call me?” Vera stood in the doorway, drenched, staring intently at Alexey. Her long curly chestnut hair had straightened from the rain, and her light summer dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body. She had taken off her shoes and was holding them in her hands. Behind her, it seemed like there was a flood. There was so much water that the ground beneath her feet seemed to disappear, and the road had become impassable. The abandoned forester's house seemed like the center of the universe in such bad weather. The heavy downpour darkened the sky with clouds, but inside, the light was on, it was warm and cozy, with what seemed like a million jars and bottles on the windowsill. She stood in the doorway, the rain pouring down her back, seeping into the house, while she stood there, unsure whether to take a step forward or remain where she was. After all, so much could depend on just one step – she might never return!
“If I'm not going to go inside,” she thought, “then why did I come here? All the way, a hundred kilometers from home. To these eyes! To these hands! The hands that held her so tightly, and, perhaps, to those lips whose gentle touch was so tender, so graceful, and sweet, sweet as… well, no comparison could ever describe it.”
“I wanted to see you,” Alexey sat calmly on a chair, afraid to move, fearing that any movement might make her turn and leave, afraid to embarrass her, afraid that something might go wrong, even though she was here now! She had come! And he didn’t want to lose all this. To lose her presence… They stood staring at each other for another minute without breaking eye contact, then she asked,
“What do you want?” “You.” “I…” she became flustered, shaking her head, “I… I’m married, we agreed on everything, Lesha.” “Well, you still came,” he replied just as quietly.
They fell silent again. Then Alexey stood up and removed all her wet clothes. Sex in the rain, with lightning and thunder, stirred them both. After it was over, she said, “I would stay here to live. Here, in this house. It feels like we’re alone here, on the edge of the universe. And I need nothing else. I’m the richest person because I have these jars on the windowsill, which need to have the cobwebs cleaned off, this old furniture, the ancient TV, but most importantly, I have you here.” “What have you done, my dear sunshine?” he interrupted her, touching her hair with his lips. “They could kill us. I think he suspects everything,” Vera said. “I’m not afraid, I can't live without you anyway.” “Lesha, that’s so beautiful and touching, but… they could kill us,” she added, “You know, I can’t live without you either… it’s just existence.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both flinched – who could it be in such weather? Alexey dressed and walked to the door. He carefully pulled back the curtains… standing on the doorstep was a woman in white…
Thirty years passed.
“Take this,” the district prosecutor entered his son’s office and threw a case file on his desk.
“Dad! I’ve got enough work as it is… Give it to Filatov, he’s got nothing to do anyway.”
The prosecutor sighed heavily, puffed out his cheeks, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Just take a look; it’s an interesting case! Once you start, you won’t be able to stop.”
“Dad,” the son protested, “I’ve got seventeen cases already.”
“And are they all interesting?” smiled prosecutor Sergey Leonidovich.
“That’s an understatement,” joked his son, Alexey Sergeevich. “Alright, fine, I’ll take a look.”
“I’ll tell you right away, you’ll need to get excited about this one, I’ve seen the case. It’s necessary!”
“What’s it about?”
“Last year, there were forest fires in the Moscow region, in the swamps, and two bodies surfaced.”
“Alright, Dad, I’ll take a look.”
– What are you writing? – asked Sergey Leonidovich, already about to leave the office.
– I have a cold case, so I need to write a detailed report – answered his son, staring back at the case files.
– That's right, that's right, a cold case needs to be thick, otherwise they called me into the city because of your Filatov… – anyway, that's all chit-chat, I'm off.
– Dad… drop by for some coffee later.
The old man nodded and left, gently closing the door behind him. Alexey opened the file.
"… Near the forest ranger’s house… two bodies found… Moscow region."
– What a godforsaken place! And I’ll have to get up early tomorrow to go there… – he rubbed his face with his hands, staring intently at the case folder, deep in thought. There was a knock at the door.
– Lesh, – entered his father’s secretary, Lyubochka, a voluptuous redhead, as his father liked to call her for her character and knack for handling things – there's a letter… it arrived… with me… come and pick it up.
– What is it?
– How should I know? – the secretary replied, puzzled. She fixed her hair, puckered her lips like a bow, and left. Alexey then thought, when his father hired her:
"Why does he need her? Maybe he's trying to move on after Mom’s death? Lyuba is around forty, she’s not old, though she works a desk job. Still, Dad always liked women with curves…"
