Since leaving the country, more than fourteen years ago, he has never heard of that inhospitable and extremely cold little place. And where the people lived healthy for many, many years. Most of the population was wealthy, reserved, conservative, facing modernization and rigid religious customs. The predominant religion was a mixture of Christianity with strong influence of Muslim precepts, especially regarding women and marriage.

Although the nation's most important figure was the matriarch of the royal family, the best role a woman occupied in society was that of a broodmare. For some strange reason they conceived only once. Idolized by her husband and envied by all the others, she was the one who could carry two or three times. This natural limitation of a single pregnancy per woman gave the husband the right to have more wives and even palvelija, as women destined to serve the men of a family in all aspects, including sexual, were known. For a second wife, foreigners were preferred. And Eva had been one of them.

Koryakia. I couldn't remember if the place had ever been mentioned in America. He paid for the groceries and ran to his car, escaping the light rain that was beginning to fall. He even took a quick look at the magazine.

He left it aside without the courage to read the article.

She stopped at the still yellow traffic light and the image of a smiling boy waiting to cross was so real that for a moment she almost got out of the car. The same blue coat, the same red and black backpack, and the everlasting woolen hat that had fallen to one side to hide the black curls. The green eyes happy for the freedom conquered.

It was on a rainy afternoon like that...

He waved at her across the street and faded into her memory.

He closed his eyes feeling the familiar stab through his soul. It was a pain so excruciating it was physical. If she hadn't been late, if she'd been at the school's doorstep on time he'd never have crossed the street and…he'd have been alive. On that cold December afternoon when the police arrived to pick him up, the onlookers were keeping the onlookers away from what was left of someone crushed by a twelve-ton, eight-axle truck that toppled over a pedestrian and slid down the hillside, crushing him.

For a minute she regretted what had happened as she looked for her son. He bumped into one of the boy's classmates. He stood up to the child's height and asked for him. Voiceless, shaking the child pointed to the accident.

It was the backpack being carried by the policeman to the metallic blanket on the floor that made his world go round. He remembered that he moaned low. He remembered running to the middle of the track and snatching the backpack from the policeman's hand. He remembered that he had opened it right there and that his son's pencils, notebooks, books and drawings had been scattered across the bloodstained asphalt while his soul had fragmented in a way too painful to describe.

The cop wasn't quick enough to stop her pulling the plastic, only to find that, beneath it, her sweet boy was nothing but a misshapen mass. He remembered waking up in the hospital hours later and hearing confirmation from the police. His son was dead. Identified only by witnesses who saw the accident and by the embroidery on the blouse with the name she wore.

No. No, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. I had no relatives to notify. They lived in the city not long ago. They moved often on the run from a bitter and unhealthy relationship.

He had fled from Koryakia.

For five years she lived like a ghost, getting drunk with pain. It was a neighbor who took her to a religious support center. There Pastor David Sullivan helped her mourn her pain and heal her wounds. There he met Henry and little by little rebuilt his life. And even after twelve years the pain of the memories tore at her.

No. No romantic dinner. Not after seeing for the first time the name of the place where the child was born.

The husband was at home when he arrived. The rain picked up and she needed the help to get the groceries inside. He handed her a towel and asked no questions. He wiped his wet eyes, hugging her tightly. It was all the wife needed when her pains came to the fore.

 

─ Are you going to do something special? ─ The husband asked later as he took cans and pots out of the paper bag. He grimaced as he picked up the box of chocolate cereal. Immense. More than two pounds. Every month Eva bought one and most of the time threw it away almost full. Neither of them was a fan of chocolate cereal, but having them for breakfast every morning was the last thing she promised her son.

─ I was going to make chicken pie. ─ She shivered slightly, shrugging her shoulders. ─ But it's too late. ─ He took some vegetables out of the fridge and started chopping them. ─ I'm going to make a stew with minced meat.

─ All right. ─ Said sitting in front of the bench.

He liked to watch his wife. At forty-six, she was a beautiful woman. He had short coppery blond hair and cut in a modern look. The eyes were green, almost moss and showed the wound she had in her soul. Tall and slender, she had been a model and the natural charm was still there.

─ Want to chat? ─ Asked kindly. She stopped what she was doing for seconds.

─ I saw a headline in a magazine today. ─ searched for the object. ─ I think he stayed in the car. ─ he waited. I knew she would continue. Eva didn't speak again until she chopped up all the vegetable. ─ He says that this doll killer is a prince in Koryakia.

─ You are not interested in this type of news. Did that disturb you?

─ A little ─ he placed the pot on the stove. 'I bought the magazine and…' His eyes clouded again.

─ What did they say in the article? he asked as he chewed a carrot.

She wanted and needed to talk.

─ I read no more than the headline.

─ We can have a look together if you want.

She looked up at him gratefully. He smiled.

─ It would be nice. - he said still sad - I don't believe it's someone from there. No Koryak likes a hot place like California. In Koryakia there is snow and ice ten months of the year. Everyone there skis and skates. They make the best use of natural conditions. Alex... ─ The subject always came to the boy in one way or another. ─ ...the heat was strange when we arrived. I even thought about moving to Boston. He didn't because I talked so much about California being my homeland that he said he would get used to it in time. I enjoyed the winter better than the other kids. I loved to skate. He joined the school team and the teacher was betting that one day he would participate in an Olympics. ─ lowered her head, almost crying.

"He's skating with the Eva angels," her husband said gently.

─ I wish you had known him.

─ I will meet you one day. ─ shook her hand. I'll get the magazine.

When he returned, the table was already set. They had dinner together talking about each other's day. Not until the kitchen was tidy and Henry opened the magazine while his wife poured coffee.

─ "Doll Killer is Crown Prince of Koryakia". ─ started reading aloud. He sat on the sofa and his wife took the chair opposite. He opened the magazine and found the story. ─ “Koryakia, a small kingdom located in the far east of eastern Russia, is the birthplace of the doll killer. During the testimony of the accused's wife it was discovered that he was the heir to the throne of this little-known country”. ─ stopped curious. ─ Did you meet him?

─ Maybe so. Maybe not. ─ realized that her husband did not understand ─ There, the heir to the throne is not the Chancellor's son. The Koryak people believe that their king dies and is reincarnated. So it can be born in any family and at any time, but only from pure Koryak, conceived by a Koryak woman and man without a mixture of foreigners. While I was there he was lost and any child that was born could be him. Apparently found. I knew the Chancellor of my time well. The one who rules while they wait for the king to return. ─ Eva clarified. He hesitated a little. ─ He was the one... ...who kept me there... after my husband ran off with another woman. ─ Told tense.

─ Oh. ─ Henry said not quite knowing what to say. The wife never said that she had been the mistress of a Chancellor. He continued to read slowly. ─ “Our reporters have tried to find out more about this small country beyond its geographic position, but there is very little information in the West. What is known is that from him emerged one of the most cruel assassins who ever acted on American soil. Prince Hansalexius Anton Leigh Conanlescaut Borlowish Spartwalyskis Borwoshi Meneslaups aka Alexius Leigh Lescaut is on trial for killing eight people in the short span of a month.” ─ He dropped the newspaper to help his wife who dropped her coffee cup, turning pale. ─ What was Eve... Eve... .

─ What's the name of the... ─ She picked up the magazine herself, but before she could confirm the information she wanted, the photo of the accused shocked her. ─ My God, Alex!

Since leaving the country, more than fourteen years ago, he has never heard of that inhospitable and extremely cold little place. And where the people lived healthy for many, many years. Most of the population was wealthy, reserved, conservative, facing modernization and rigid religious customs. The predominant religion was a mixture of Christianity with strong influence of Muslim precepts, especially regarding women and marriage.

Although the nation's most important figure was the matriarch of the royal family, the best role a woman occupied in society was that of a broodmare. For some strange reason they conceived only once. Idolized by her husband and envied by all the others, she was the one who could carry two or three times. This natural limitation of a single pregnancy per woman gave the husband the right to have more wives and even palvelija, as women destined to serve the men of a family in all aspects, including sexual, were known. For a second wife, foreigners were preferred. And Eva had been one of them.

Koryakia. I couldn't remember if the place had ever been mentioned in America. He paid for the groceries and ran to his car, escaping the light rain that was beginning to fall. He even took a quick look at the magazine.

He left it aside without the courage to read the article.

She stopped at the still yellow traffic light and the image of a smiling boy waiting to cross was so real that for a moment she almost got out of the car. The same blue coat, the same red and black backpack, and the everlasting woolen hat that had fallen to one side to hide the black curls. The green eyes happy for the freedom conquered.

It was on a rainy afternoon like that...

He waved at her across the street and faded into her memory.

He closed his eyes feeling the familiar stab through his soul. It was a pain so excruciating it was physical. If she hadn't been late, if she'd been at the school's doorstep on time he'd never have crossed the street and…he'd have been alive. On that cold December afternoon when the police arrived to pick him up, the onlookers were keeping the onlookers away from what was left of someone crushed by a twelve-ton, eight-axle truck that toppled over a pedestrian and slid down the hillside, crushing him.

For a minute she regretted what had happened as she looked for her son. He bumped into one of the boy's classmates. He stood up to the child's height and asked for him. Voiceless, shaking the child pointed to the accident.

It was the backpack being carried by the policeman to the metallic blanket on the floor that made his world go round. He remembered that he moaned low. He remembered running to the middle of the track and snatching the backpack from the policeman's hand. He remembered that he had opened it right there and that his son's pencils, notebooks, books and drawings had been scattered across the bloodstained asphalt while his soul had fragmented in a way too painful to describe.

The cop wasn't quick enough to stop her pulling the plastic, only to find that, beneath it, her sweet boy was nothing but a misshapen mass. He remembered waking up in the hospital hours later and hearing confirmation from the police. His son was dead. Identified only by witnesses who saw the accident and by the embroidery on the blouse with the name she wore.

No. No, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. I had no relatives to notify. They lived in the city not long ago. They moved often on the run from a bitter and unhealthy relationship.

He had fled from Koryakia.

For five years she lived like a ghost, getting drunk with pain. It was a neighbor who took her to a religious support center. There Pastor David Sullivan helped her mourn her pain and heal her wounds. There he met Henry and little by little rebuilt his life. And even after twelve years the pain of the memories tore at her.

No. No romantic dinner. Not after seeing for the first time the name of the place where the child was born.

The husband was at home when he arrived. The rain picked up and she needed the help to get the groceries inside. He handed her a towel and asked no questions. He wiped his wet eyes, hugging her tightly. It was all the wife needed when her pains came to the fore.

 

─ Are you going to do something special? ─ The husband asked later as he took cans and pots out of the paper bag. He grimaced as he picked up the box of chocolate cereal. Immense. More than two pounds. Every month Eva bought one and most of the time threw it away almost full. Neither of them was a fan of chocolate cereal, but having them for breakfast every morning was the last thing she promised her son.

─ I was going to make chicken pie. ─ She shivered slightly, shrugging her shoulders. ─ But it's too late. ─ He took some vegetables out of the fridge and started chopping them. ─ I'm going to make a stew with minced meat.

─ All right. ─ Said sitting in front of the bench.

He liked to watch his wife. At forty-six, she was a beautiful woman. He had short coppery blond hair and cut in a modern look. The eyes were green, almost moss and showed the wound she had in her soul. Tall and slender, she had been a model and the natural charm was still there.

─ Want to chat? ─ Asked kindly. She stopped what she was doing for seconds.

─ I saw a headline in a magazine today. ─ searched for the object. ─ I think he stayed in the car. ─ he waited. I knew she would continue. Eva didn't speak again until she chopped up all the vegetable. ─ He says that this doll killer is a prince in Koryakia.

─ You are not interested in this type of news. Did that disturb you?

─ A little ─ he placed the pot on the stove. 'I bought the magazine and…' His eyes clouded again.

─ What did they say in the article? he asked as he chewed a carrot.

She wanted and needed to talk.

─ I read no more than the headline.

─ We can have a look together if you want.

She looked up at him gratefully. He smiled.

─ It would be nice. - he said still sad - I don't believe it's someone from there. No Koryak likes a hot place like California. In Koryakia there is snow and ice ten months of the year. Everyone there skis and skates. They make the best use of natural conditions. Alex... ─ The subject always came to the boy in one way or another. ─ ...the heat was strange when we arrived. I even thought about moving to Boston. He didn't because I talked so much about California being my homeland that he said he would get used to it in time. I enjoyed the winter better than the other kids. I loved to skate. He joined the school team and the teacher was betting that one day he would participate in an Olympics. ─ lowered her head, almost crying.

"He's skating with the Eva angels," her husband said gently.

─ I wish you had known him.

─ I will meet you one day. ─ shook her hand. I'll get the magazine.

When he returned, the table was already set. They had dinner together talking about each other's day. Not until the kitchen was tidy and Henry opened the magazine while his wife poured coffee.

─ "Doll Killer is Crown Prince of Koryakia". ─ started reading aloud. He sat on the sofa and his wife took the chair opposite. He opened the magazine and found the story. ─ “Koryakia, a small kingdom located in the far east of eastern Russia, is the birthplace of the doll killer. During the testimony of the accused's wife it was discovered that he was the heir to the throne of this little-known country”. ─ stopped curious. ─ Did you meet him?

─ Maybe so. Maybe not. ─ realized that her husband did not understand ─ There, the heir to the throne is not the Chancellor's son. The Koryak people believe that their king dies and is reincarnated. So it can be born in any family and at any time, but only from pure Koryak, conceived by a Koryak woman and man without a mixture of foreigners. While I was there he was lost and any child that was born could be him. Apparently found. I knew the Chancellor of my time well. The one who rules while they wait for the king to return. ─ Eva clarified. He hesitated a little. ─ He was the one... ...who kept me there... after my husband ran off with another woman. ─ Told tense.

─ Oh. ─ Henry said not quite knowing what to say. The wife never said that she had been the mistress of a Chancellor. He continued to read slowly. ─ “Our reporters have tried to find out more about this small country beyond its geographic position, but there is very little information in the West. What is known is that from him emerged one of the most cruel assassins who ever acted on American soil. Prince Hansalexius Anton Leigh Conanlescaut Borlowish Spartwalyskis Borwoshi Meneslaups aka Alexius Leigh Lescaut is on trial for killing eight people in the short span of a month.” ─ He dropped the newspaper to help his wife who dropped her coffee cup, turning pale. ─ What was Eve... Eve... .

─ What's the name of the... ─ She picked up the magazine herself, but before she could confirm the information she wanted, the photo of the accused shocked her. ─ My God, Alex!

Since leaving the country, more than fourteen years ago, he has never heard of that inhospitable and extremely cold little place. And where the people lived healthy for many, many years. Most of the population was wealthy, reserved, conservative, facing modernization and rigid religious customs. The predominant religion was a mixture of Christianity with strong influence of Muslim precepts, especially regarding women and marriage.

Although the nation's most important figure was the matriarch of the royal family, the best role a woman occupied in society was that of a broodmare. For some strange reason they conceived only once. Idolized by her husband and envied by all the others, she was the one who could carry two or three times. This natural limitation of a single pregnancy per woman gave the husband the right to have more wives and even palvelija, as women destined to serve the men of a family in all aspects, including sexual, were known. For a second wife, foreigners were preferred. And Eva had been one of them.

Koryakia. I couldn't remember if the place had ever been mentioned in America. He paid for the groceries and ran to his car, escaping the light rain that was beginning to fall. He even took a quick look at the magazine.

He left it aside without the courage to read the article.

She stopped at the still yellow traffic light and the image of a smiling boy waiting to cross was so real that for a moment she almost got out of the car. The same blue coat, the same red and black backpack, and the everlasting woolen hat that had fallen to one side to hide the black curls. The green eyes happy for the freedom conquered.

It was on a rainy afternoon like that...

He waved at her across the street and faded into her memory.

He closed his eyes feeling the familiar stab through his soul. It was a pain so excruciating it was physical. If she hadn't been late, if she'd been at the school's doorstep on time he'd never have crossed the street and…he'd have been alive. On that cold December afternoon when the police arrived to pick him up, the onlookers were keeping the onlookers away from what was left of someone crushed by a twelve-ton, eight-axle truck that toppled over a pedestrian and slid down the hillside, crushing him.

For a minute she regretted what had happened as she looked for her son. He bumped into one of the boy's classmates. He stood up to the child's height and asked for him. Voiceless, shaking the child pointed to the accident.

It was the backpack being carried by the policeman to the metallic blanket on the floor that made his world go round. He remembered that he moaned low. He remembered running to the middle of the track and snatching the backpack from the policeman's hand. He remembered that he had opened it right there and that his son's pencils, notebooks, books and drawings had been scattered across the bloodstained asphalt while his soul had fragmented in a way too painful to describe.

The cop wasn't quick enough to stop her pulling the plastic, only to find that, beneath it, her sweet boy was nothing but a misshapen mass. He remembered waking up in the hospital hours later and hearing confirmation from the police. His son was dead. Identified only by witnesses who saw the accident and by the embroidery on the blouse with the name she wore.

No. No, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. I had no relatives to notify. They lived in the city not long ago. They moved often on the run from a bitter and unhealthy relationship.

He had fled from Koryakia.

For five years she lived like a ghost, getting drunk with pain. It was a neighbor who took her to a religious support center. There Pastor David Sullivan helped her mourn her pain and heal her wounds. There he met Henry and little by little rebuilt his life. And even after twelve years the pain of the memories tore at her.

No. No romantic dinner. Not after seeing for the first time the name of the place where the child was born.

The husband was at home when he arrived. The rain picked up and she needed the help to get the groceries inside. He handed her a towel and asked no questions. He wiped his wet eyes, hugging her tightly. It was all the wife needed when her pains came to the fore.

 

─ Are you going to do something special? ─ The husband asked later as he took cans and pots out of the paper bag. He grimaced as he picked up the box of chocolate cereal. Immense. More than two pounds. Every month Eva bought one and most of the time threw it away almost full. Neither of them was a fan of chocolate cereal, but having them for breakfast every morning was the last thing she promised her son.

─ I was going to make chicken pie. ─ She shivered slightly, shrugging her shoulders. ─ But it's too late. ─ He took some vegetables out of the fridge and started chopping them. ─ I'm going to make a stew with minced meat.

─ All right. ─ Said sitting in front of the bench.

He liked to watch his wife. At forty-six, she was a beautiful woman. He had short coppery blond hair and cut in a modern look. The eyes were green, almost moss and showed the wound she had in her soul. Tall and slender, she had been a model and the natural charm was still there.

─ Want to chat? ─ Asked kindly. She stopped what she was doing for seconds.

─ I saw a headline in a magazine today. ─ searched for the object. ─ I think he stayed in the car. ─ he waited. I knew she would continue. Eva didn't speak again until she chopped up all the vegetable. ─ He says that this doll killer is a prince in Koryakia.

─ You are not interested in this type of news. Did that disturb you?

─ A little ─ he placed the pot on the stove. 'I bought the magazine and…' His eyes clouded again.

─ What did they say in the article? he asked as he chewed a carrot.

She wanted and needed to talk.

─ I read no more than the headline.

─ We can have a look together if you want.

She looked up at him gratefully. He smiled.

─ It would be nice. - he said still sad - I don't believe it's someone from there. No Koryak likes a hot place like California. In Koryakia there is snow and ice ten months of the year. Everyone there skis and skates. They make the best use of natural conditions. Alex... ─ The subject always came to the boy in one way or another. ─ ...the heat was strange when we arrived. I even thought about moving to Boston. He didn't because I talked so much about California being my homeland that he said he would get used to it in time. I enjoyed the winter better than the other kids. I loved to skate. He joined the school team and the teacher was betting that one day he would participate in an Olympics. ─ lowered her head, almost crying.

"He's skating with the Eva angels," her husband said gently.

─ I wish you had known him.

─ I will meet you one day. ─ shook her hand. I'll get the magazine.

When he returned, the table was already set. They had dinner together talking about each other's day. Not until the kitchen was tidy and Henry opened the magazine while his wife poured coffee.

─ "Doll Killer is Crown Prince of Koryakia". ─ started reading aloud. He sat on the sofa and his wife took the chair opposite. He opened the magazine and found the story. ─ “Koryakia, a small kingdom located in the far east of eastern Russia, is the birthplace of the doll killer. During the testimony of the accused's wife it was discovered that he was the heir to the throne of this little-known country”. ─ stopped curious. ─ Did you meet him?

─ Maybe so. Maybe not. ─ realized that her husband did not understand ─ There, the heir to the throne is not the Chancellor's son. The Koryak people believe that their king dies and is reincarnated. So it can be born in any family and at any time, but only from pure Koryak, conceived by a Koryak woman and man without a mixture of foreigners. While I was there he was lost and any child that was born could be him. Apparently found. I knew the Chancellor of my time well. The one who rules while they wait for the king to return. ─ Eva clarified. He hesitated a little. ─ He was the one... ...who kept me there... after my husband ran off with another woman. ─ Told tense.

─ Oh. ─ Henry said not quite knowing what to say. The wife never said that she had been the mistress of a Chancellor. He continued to read slowly. ─ “Our reporters have tried to find out more about this small country beyond its geographic position, but there is very little information in the West. What is known is that from him emerged one of the most cruel assassins who ever acted on American soil. Prince Hansalexius Anton Leigh Conanlescaut Borlowish Spartwalyskis Borwoshi Meneslaups aka Alexius Leigh Lescaut is on trial for killing eight people in the short span of a month.” ─ He dropped the newspaper to help his wife who dropped her coffee cup, turning pale. ─ What was Eve... Eve... .

─ What's the name of the... ─ She picked up the magazine herself, but before she could confirm the information she wanted, the photo of the accused shocked her. ─ My God, Alex!