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She was like a black cat. Neat, independent and so quiet, unnoticeable. If she walked along an almost empty school corridor, or an apartment empty of household chores, no one would have noticed her. She walked like a cat, gracefully and carefully, carefully choosing her moment. Flashed like a shadow. Black invisible shadow. The girl loved milk. She drank it with such gusto, as if it were the most delicious drink in the world. She is lonely and independent, she has never had close friends. After all, everyone believes that black cats bring bad luck. A stern look, carefully calculated actions and a seemingly impossible silent step - that’s what she’s all about. The girl loved to stay awake at night admiring the bright stars. Fascinatingly looking at the sky, her eyes shone like heavenly bodies. The girl loved to sleep during the day, sometimes skipping school. According to her, watching bright and colorful, happy dreams is better than sitting in this “prison” and listening to another teacher’s lecture about how mediocre and stupid everyone is. She doesn't like to conflict. Why waste your physical and moral strength on another person when you can do something useful for yourself? To eat, for example. The girl loved this too. The brunette loved trinkets. Small toys that have the ability to shake, rattle, ring, or sparkle and sparkle. That's why she has a keychain on her phone that she plays with when she's bored. The girl is silent, cold and proud. Very collected and well-mannered. She will never make the first move, no matter what. Loneliness is her lot. Loving people is useless. If you get attached, you will only get pain in return. Once, she trusted fate, making a terrible mistake. At first everything was fine. He was like a red dog. So faithful, devoted and infinitely gentle. The guy literally ran after her, always smiling brightly and happily. He picked her up and accompanied her to school, often taking her out for a walk, which she refused for a long time. He gave her warmth and light a thousand times more than the sun. He didn’t regret anything, he hugged, supported and cheered when he was sad. The guy really didn’t like it when the brunette was left alone. In his opinion it is terribly dreary and boring. He did not like to be separated after walks and, when leaving, he always promised that they would meet as soon as possible. And she just looked at him with her always serious eyes, never said goodbye, but simply silently turned around and went home. He never forgot about even the most insignificant holiday; he always chose and gave her gifts with such joy. And she, often forgetting about their anniversaries, did not give gifts and answered only a cold “thank you” to surprises. She knew that he lacked love and warmth, but he endured. Because he loved her. But, on one of the worst days of her life, he was gone. As always, he hurried to her in order to invite her for a walk and impatiently ran across the road at the red light. He was hit by a car. To death. The girl still remembers the pool of blood and his lifeless body. She loved him too. Loved her very much. But she was so selfish! She never thought about his feelings, often yelled at him, didn’t give him anything, ignored his messages when she stayed late at school and he was worried! And he cared so much, protected even when it was not necessary. He didn't think she brought bad luck! Only him! And...He never kissed her. Didn't have time. Yes, and the girl didn’t have time to do so much! She didn’t have time to say how dear and necessary he is to her, how she loves him... She didn’t have time. And it's her fault. A year passed and she closed herself off. It would be better if she were cold-blooded, firm and inconspicuous than a naive slob who trusts everyone.
The text is large so it is divided into pages.
Marina Serova Black cat Marina Serova. Black cat. M.: Eksmo, 2009. ISBN 978-5-699-3306 It was necessary for private detective Tatyana Ivanova to set herself up like that - to chase after the main suspect in order to end up being arrested for his own murder! Colonel Kiryanov of the Ministry of Internal Affairs approached Ivanova at the request of his friend. The famous detective was required to find a girl whose parents had died. The father left his daughter an inheritance that, it would seem, no one claims. But a holy place is never empty; other applicants have also turned up. They kidnapped an orphan, and now they got serious about Tatiana... - Just look how pretty they are! - Why do I need them? -... how fluffy... - Where should I take them? – ...it’s a pleasure to even look at it! - Yes, I won’t even have time to look after them... So, without much success, I tried to fight off my next clients, for whom I had just completed an investigation and who stubbornly insisted that in addition to the fee, I would certainly take a kitten as a gift. These people were engaged, as a hobby, in breeding Persian cats and highly praised the next litter to me, constantly using the word “extreme people.” Apparently, this was supposed to mean that the resulting kittens were a very pure breed, but every time I was itching to say that in my extreme profession I have enough extreme sports even without kittens. But I restrained my desire so as not to offend people who, from the bottom of their hearts, offered the best they had. The kittens were indeed very cute and incredibly fluffy, but I firmly remembered that with my lifestyle, if I wanted to have a pet, I would definitely have to hire a special person to look after it. Just so that the unfortunate animal does not die of starvation while I spend the whole day chasing another scoundrel. Therefore, having explained as politely and tactfully as possible that, even if I wanted to, I could not accept such an expensive gift, I finally found myself on the street. It was a wonderful June day. The task turned out to be not too difficult, I did not feel particularly tired, and, apparently, this factor, combined with good weather and the fee I had just received, awakened in me a long-forgotten childhood desire to take a walk. Just wander the streets, not thinking about anything and enjoying the fresh air. But then the thought occurred to me that if I wandered the streets completely alone without any specific purpose, those around me might misunderstand me. So I decided to take a walk a little differently. “I’ll drive to the center,” I thought, “and there I’ll sit down at a table in some street cafe, order myself coffee and smoke and stare at passers-by, like in the good student days, when we ran away from lectures.” No sooner said than done. About twenty minutes later I was already walking along one of the central streets of our city and looking for a suitable place among the numerous summer cafes, which, on the occasion of the warm season, multiplied like mushrooms after the rain. Suddenly I noticed something that made me stop for a minute. In the middle of the week, at the height of the working day, sitting at a table in one of the cafes was none other than my old friend Vladimir Sergeevich Kiryanov, a police lieutenant colonel and an extremely busy, and most importantly, disciplined person. While I was thinking about what kind of out-of-the-ordinary circumstances forced Kiryu to leave his office during working hours and whether I should now reveal my presence and greet him, he himself noticed me and waved his hand for me to come over. - Tatiana! By the way! Sit down, we're talking. Besides Kiryanov, there was one more person sitting at the table. He was a middle-aged man with a rather heavy build, with a very worried expression on his face. Taking a closer look, I noticed the same expression of extreme concern on Kiri’s face. – Here, please meet Nikolai Petrovich Semenov, my old friend and generally a good guy. Kolya, this is Tatyana. I didn’t have time to tell you... Well, in general, you can also say - an old friend... - Old? “Well, not so literally... in the sense of a long time ago,” Kirya inattentively justified himself, whose thoughts, quite obviously, were occupied with something else. I realized that the interlocutors were busy with some really serious problem and they had no time for jokes right now. “...yes...friend...” Kirya continued. – A friend, one might say, a fighting one. I had the opportunity to... eat more than one pound of salt together... yes... She worked for us at one time, now she works independently. I think this is just what you need. “Just a minute,” I decided to intervene in this nostalgic speech. – Maybe someone will let me know the essence of the matter? It is possible, and even very likely, that I am exactly what someone needs, but I think it wouldn’t hurt to take an interest in what I need. – Sorry, Tanya, we’re all talking about our own things here... Of course, Kolya will explain to you now. But first, tell me, how is your time? Are you investigating anything now? - I just finished the job. - Is that so? Well, that's very good. - Do you think so? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that “old friend and good guy” Kolya turned to Kiryanov with some problem of his own, which he, for some reasons still unknown to me, considered it more convenient to entrust to me. That is why he asked if I had anything to do right now. And that is why, of course, he is not at all interested in the fact that, having just finished the investigation, I would like to rest a little. “Of course, good,” Kirya confirmed my guesses. – After all, if you are free now, then that means you can help us. It was useless to dissuade him. - And with what? – I asked without much enthusiasm. - You see, this is the thing... Kolya... he needs to find one person... a girl. But the problem is that this girl is... well, how can I put it... in general, no one. That is, it doesn’t even make sense for me to accept an official wanted statement from him. Because, you understand, on what basis? And worst of all, this girl has no relatives who could submit such a statement officially. Basically, she's an orphan. Here you go. And you definitely need to find it. Because the consequences can be... the saddest. Therefore, in my opinion, the most effective action here will be through unofficial channels, and you, as a private detective, yourself understand... the best option. Of course, I will always help you in any way I can - of course, if you undertake. – Kirya looked at me questioningly.
Cinema Thriller - 2
TWILIGHT
1
Fatal day
A wooden Orthodox cross on a grave overgrown with tall grass; on the cross is a photograph of a boy of about twelve, made on ceramics. The suburban cemetery was empty on an early autumn workday morning. The disgusting cawing of crows rushed over this emptiness, as if spewing out from the yellowed branches of the trees. On the overgrown grave there is a newspaper, a liverwurst sandwich, an open bottle of vodka and a plastic cup. A woman in a long, unkempt cloak came to remember her son. Tears in the eyes, a black scarf and dry lips that uttered only one word: “Sasha.” The voice was hoarse. She looked under forty, but her swollen face, bags under her eyes and exhausted look betrayed her lifestyle. She was once beautiful. This was reminiscent of the noble facial features, large brown eyes, scattered black eyebrows, and an unruly strand of hair, now gray. Worn down shoes, tights with holes in several places, as if they had been gnawed by moths, this terrible chewed-up raincoat... But it’s hard to mistake her for a homeless woman - she has some kind of special appearance, her posture, the set of her head, her proud look. She still knew her worth, although life had long since re-evaluated her and knocked her off the pedestal where she once belonged.
The woman poured vodka into a glass and drank it without eating. She twisted a cork from a newspaper, plugged the bottle with it, put the container in the pocket of her robe, crossed herself and left.
Outside the gates of the cemetery there was a small church. The woman went into it, scraped together some small things, bought a candle and, placing it in front of the icon, prayed for a long time. A quiet voice was heard behind her:
She shuddered, but didn’t even look back, thinking she was hallucinating. Even in church there is no peace.
The woman closed her eyes, her heart sank. She knew there was no one in the church except for a dozing old woman selling candles and cardboard icons. With a shaking hand, she took the bottle out of her pocket, pulled out the newspaper cap and took a few sips straight from the neck. A terrible sin, but all her sins still cannot be forgiven. She should burn in hell, if it exists. She never found heaven on earth, so why dream of heaven.
Are you short on space? Stand at another icon and call your mother.
I'm calling you. Why don't you want to acknowledge me?
Because I'm not crazy.
The woman headed towards the exit. The girl caught up with her on the street.
Come with me, I'll show you something.
Leave me alone, girl. There's something wrong with your head.
I beg you, let's go! You will understand everything yourself.
The woman peered into the girl's face. She is unhappy - you can see it in her eyes. Maybe we should go? What's the hurry? To your cold slum?
What do you want to show me?
You'll see for yourself.
The girl took her hand and led her back to the cemetery. The woman did not resist. They walked to a rich area. Near one of the graves, the girl stopped and pointed to a tall black marble stone. The engraver did his best. On the stone was a full-length woman, dressed in a rich evening dress. The inscription read: “Ksenia Mikhailovna Krasnopolskaya.” An enviable grave, five years have passed since the funeral, and it is all strewn with fresh flowers. But the one who approached was struck by something else: she saw herself in Ksenia, as if she was looking in a mirror. Not now, of course, but five years ago, when not a single man could pass by without looking back.
Sorry, honey, but my name is Lilia Romanovna Rastorgueva, not Ksenia Krasnopolskaya.
|
I know that you will not believe me, and it would be crazy to expect to believe in such a case which you cannot verify by the evidence of your own feelings. I'm not crazy or delusional. But tomorrow I must die, and today I would like to relieve my soul. I would like to set forth clearly, sequentially, but without comment, a series of ordinary domestic events. With their consequences, these events amazed, tormented and destroyed me. I won't try to explain them. They seemed terrible to me; to many they will only seem inconsistent. Subsequently, perhaps, there will be a person who will make a common place out of me; a man with a head more calm and logical and not so excited as mine, will find that the circumstances of which I relate with horror are no more than the natural outcome of a very ordinary cause.
Since childhood, I have been famous for my meekness of character and humanity. My remarkably tender heart made me the laughing stock of my comrades. I was completely crazy about animals, and my parents let me keep them. I spent almost all my time with them, and was completely happy only when I fed and caressed them. This feature of my character grew stronger over the years, and when I became an adult, it became my main source of pleasure. I have no need to explain the pleasure of affection to those who have ever owned a faithful and intelligent dog. There is something in the unselfish love of an animal, in its self-sacrifice, that penetrates directly into the soul of a person who has more than once had the opportunity to test the fragile friendship and loyalty of a natural person.
I married early and, fortunately, found in my wife similar inclinations to mine. Knowing my love for pets, she never missed an opportunity to deliver me the best specimens. We had birds, a goldfish, a great dog, rabbits, a small monkey and a cat.
The cat was distinguished by remarkable growth and beauty, was completely black and unusually intelligent. Speaking about her intelligence, my wife, who is not entirely alien to prejudices, often referred to the old belief that all black cats are werewolves. It cannot be said that my wife always said this seriously, and I mention her words only because they now occurred to me.
Pluto - that was the cat's name - was my favorite companion; I fed him myself and he followed me everywhere I went.
Thus, our friendship lasted several years, during which my character, under the influence of intemperance - which I admit with shame - completely changed for the worse. I began to treat my wife rudely and even reached the point of personal violence. My poor pets, of course, suffered even more. I retained a little affection for Pluto, but I treated the others - the rabbits, the monkey and even the dog - cruelly even when they ran towards me with affection. But my unfortunate weakness took possession of me more and more. What disaster can compare with the passion for wine! Finally, even Pluto, now old and weak, began to experience the change in my character.
One night I returned home very drunk and, imagining that Pluto was avoiding me, I grabbed him; Pluto, frightened by my violence, bit me lightly on the hand. I was suddenly overcome with devilish rage; I didn’t remember myself; the arch-devilish anger, kindled by the gin, penetrated my entire being. I took a penknife from my vest pocket, opened it, grabbed the cat by the collar and gouged out her eye. I blush, I burn with shame, I write with a shudder about this damned cruelty!
When, with the onset of morning, my prudence returned, when the fumes of the night's revelry dissipated, I felt both horror and repentance. But this feeling was weak and fleeting. I again indulged in excess and soon drowned the memory of my offense in wine.
Meanwhile, the cat recovered slowly. Although the eye socket was terrible to look at, Pluto seemed to no longer suffer. He walked, as usual, throughout the house, and, as one would expect, fled with indescribable horror at my approach. There was still so much feeling left in me that at first I was upset by the obvious antipathy of the creature who had once loved me so much. But this feeling soon gave way to irritation. And then, as if for my final and irrevocable fall, the spirit of malice appeared in me. Philosophy does not pay attention to this feeling, but meanwhile - and I know this, perhaps better than anyone - anger is the main engine of the human heart, one of the first invisible feelings that gives direction to character. Who hundreds of times did not commit stupid or bad actions solely because they should not have been done! Don't we have a constant desire, despite common sense, to break the law just because we understand that it is the law? The spirit of malice, I say, completed my final fall. This passionate, elusive desire of the soul to torment itself, to rape its own temperament, to do evil only for the love of evil, prompted me to continue, and finally complete the torment I inflicted on a defenseless animal. One morning, completely calmly, I put a noose around the cat’s neck and hung it on a tree limb. I hung the cat with tears in my eyes, with bitter repentance in my heart; I hung her because I knew that she loved me, and because I felt that she was not guilty of me; I hanged it because I knew that in doing so I was committing a crime - a crime so terrible that it places my immortal soul, if possible, outside the infinite mercy of the all-forgiving and punishing Judge.
On the night of the day when I committed a cruel act, I was awakened by shouts: Fire! The curtains of my bed were already on fire. The whole house was on fire. My wife, my maid and I escaped the fire with great difficulty. The destruction was complete. My entire fortune was lost. From that time on I gave in to despair.
I am not at all trying to find a mystical connection between my cruelty and the misfortune that befell me. But I am aware of the whole chain of facts and do not want to neglect any of them. The day after the fire I went to inspect the ashes. All the walls, except one, collapsed; and this only exception turned out to be an internal wall, quite thin, running across the house and against which the head of my bed leaned. The stone work almost completely withstood the action of the fire, which I attribute to the fact that the wall had recently been refinished. A crowd had gathered near the wall, and several people were looking at her intently. My curiosity was incited by the words: “strange!.. amazing!..” I approached and saw on the white surface of the wall something like a bas-relief depicting a giant cat. The image was conveyed remarkably correctly. A rope was visible around the neck.
It seemed to me that this was a vision, and horror took possession of me. But, finally, reason came to my aid. I remembered that the cat had been hanged in the garden adjacent to the house. At the cry for help, our garden immediately filled with people, and someone probably took the cat from the tree and threw it into my room, through the open window, to wake me up. As the walls fell, one of them pressed the victim of my cruelty against the fresh plaster, and the lime, combining with the ammonia of the corpse, produced a figure.
But I quickly calmed only my mind, but not my conscience, and this phenomenon made a deep impression on my imagination. For several months I could not get rid of the ghost of the cat, and something like repentance appeared in my soul. I mourned the loss of the animal, and in the shameful dens that I now usually visited, I began to look for another favorite of the same breed and appearance similar to Pluto, in order to replace it.
One evening, in one more than shameful den, my attention was attracted by some black object sitting on top of one of the huge barrels of gin or rum that made up the main decoration of the room. For several minutes I looked intently at the top of the barrel and was most surprised that I had not noticed this object before. I walked over and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat, a very large black cat, exactly as big as Pluto, but with the only difference that Pluto did not have a single white spot on his entire body, while this one had a large white spot, irregular in shape, that occupied almost the entire breast.
Marina Serova
Black cat
Marina Serova. Black cat. M.: Eksmo, 2009. ISBN 978-5-699-3306
It was necessary for private detective Tatyana Ivanova to set herself up like that - to chase after the main suspect in order to end up being arrested for his own murder! Colonel Kiryanov of the Ministry of Internal Affairs approached Ivanova at the request of his friend. The famous detective was required to find a girl whose parents had died. The father left his daughter an inheritance that, it would seem, no one claims. But a holy place is never empty; other applicants have also turned up. They kidnapped an orphan, and now they got serious about Tatiana...
- Just look how pretty they are!
- Why do I need them?
-... how fluffy...
- Where should I take them?
– ...it’s a pleasure to even look at it!
- Yes, I won’t even have time to look after them...
So, without much success, I tried to fight off my next clients, for whom I had just completed an investigation and who stubbornly insisted that in addition to the fee, I would certainly take a kitten as a gift.
These people were engaged, as a hobby, in breeding Persian cats and highly praised the next litter to me, constantly using the word “extreme people.” Apparently, this was supposed to mean that the resulting kittens were a very pure breed, but every time I was itching to say that in my extreme profession I have enough extreme sports even without kittens. But I restrained my desire so as not to offend people who, from the bottom of their hearts, offered the best they had.
The kittens were indeed very cute and incredibly fluffy, but I firmly remembered that with my lifestyle, if I wanted to have a pet, I would definitely have to hire a special person to look after it. Just so that the unfortunate animal does not die of starvation while I spend the whole day chasing another scoundrel. Therefore, having explained as politely and tactfully as possible that, even if I wanted to, I could not accept such an expensive gift, I finally found myself on the street.
It was a wonderful June day. The task turned out to be not too difficult, I did not feel particularly tired, and, apparently, this factor, combined with good weather and the fee I had just received, awakened in me a long-forgotten childhood desire to take a walk. Just wander the streets, not thinking about anything and enjoying the fresh air.
But then the thought occurred to me that if I wandered the streets completely alone without any specific purpose, those around me might misunderstand me. So I decided to take a walk a little differently.
“I’ll drive to the center,” I thought, “and there I’ll sit down at a table in some street cafe, order myself coffee and smoke and stare at passers-by, like in the good student days, when we ran away from lectures.”
No sooner said than done. About twenty minutes later I was already walking along one of the central streets of our city and looking for a suitable place among the numerous summer cafes, which, on the occasion of the warm season, multiplied like mushrooms after the rain.
Suddenly I noticed something that made me stop for a minute. In the middle of the week, at the height of the working day, sitting at a table in one of the cafes was none other than my old friend Vladimir Sergeevich Kiryanov, a police lieutenant colonel and an extremely busy, and most importantly, disciplined person.
While I was thinking about what kind of out-of-the-ordinary circumstances forced Kiryu to leave his office during working hours and whether I should now reveal my presence and greet him, he himself noticed me and waved his hand for me to come over.
- Tatiana! By the way! Sit down, we're talking.
Besides Kiryanov, there was one more person sitting at the table. He was a middle-aged man with a rather heavy build, with a very worried expression on his face. Taking a closer look, I noticed the same expression of extreme concern on Kiri’s face.
– Here, please meet Nikolai Petrovich Semenov, my old friend and generally a good guy. Kolya, this is Tatyana. I didn’t have time to tell you... Well, in general, you can also say - an old friend...
- Old?
“Well, not so literally... in the sense of a long time ago,” Kirya inattentively justified himself, whose thoughts, quite obviously, were occupied with something else.
I realized that the interlocutors were busy with some really serious problem and they had no time for jokes right now.
“...yes...friend...” Kirya continued. – A friend, one might say, a fighting one. I had the opportunity to... eat more than one pound of salt together... yes... She worked for us at one time, now she works independently. I think this is just what you need.
“Just a minute,” I decided to intervene in this nostalgic speech. – Maybe someone will let me know the essence of the matter? It is possible, and even very likely, that I am exactly what someone needs, but I think it wouldn’t hurt to take an interest in what I need.
– Sorry, Tanya, we’re all talking about our own things here... Of course, Kolya will explain to you now. But first, tell me, how is your time? Are you investigating anything now?
- I just finished the job.
- Is that so? Well, that's very good.
- Do you think so?
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that “old friend and good guy” Kolya turned to Kiryanov with some problem of his own, which he, for some reasons still unknown to me, considered it more convenient to entrust to me. That is why he asked if I had anything to do right now. And that is why, of course, he is not at all interested in the fact that, having just finished the investigation, I would like to rest a little.
“Of course, good,” Kirya confirmed my guesses. – After all, if you are free now, then that means you can help us.
It was useless to dissuade him.
- And with what? – I asked without much enthusiasm.
- You see, this is the thing... Kolya... he needs to find one person... a girl. But the problem is that this girl is... well, how can I put it... in general, no one. That is, it doesn’t even make sense for me to accept an official wanted statement from him. Because, you understand, on what basis? And worst of all, this girl has no relatives who could submit such a statement officially. Basically, she's an orphan. Here you go. And you definitely need to find it. Because the consequences can be... the saddest. Therefore, in my opinion, the most effective action here will be through unofficial channels, and you, as a private detective, yourself understand... the best option. Of course, I will always help you in any way I can - of course, if you undertake. – Kirya looked at me questioningly.
