When I came to, I was on the couch, in my living room. There was a sharp odor, acrid and strong, and I sneezed and opened my eyes. McNulty’s face was still frozen on the screen, just the way April and I had left it when Vlada called.

I moved my hand and felt something cold on my forehead. Lifting my arm to remove it, I felt a wet towel, but strong hands stopped me and a low voice said,

“Rodion, please, a few more minutes. I’m just going to make you a cup of tea.” Vlada materialized in front of me, her eyes inspecting me for damage. I must have looked fine, because a moment later, she turned to her left, “You see, April, I told you it would work. Remember, pepper works in case you don’t have anything else available.” Vlada disappeared into the kitchen and I heard the clanking of dishes.

“Rodion.” April came into view and sat down next to me on the couch, taking me by the hand.

“What happened?” Disobeying Vlada’s orders, pulled off the wet cloth from my forehead and sat up. “Did I pass out?”

“I guess.” April cleared her throat. “Right after Vlada called with the news. Then she called you right back, so I picked up.” April averted her eyes. “And I told her what happened, so she came right over.”

“Oh, wow.” I shifted in my seat, adjusting slightly. “How long was I out for?”

“Oh, not long.” April shrugged. “But it was pretty scary.”

I nodded, though I didn’t feel scared one bit.

“Wait, is it true? Phil is dead?” I remembered the news Vlada delivered. April nodded.

“A car accident?” My mouth gaped open.

“Yes, well, Vlada said it was a hit-and-run.” April frowned. “Vlada is very worried about you.” She added and looked to the kitchen, where the teakettle whistled.

“April, wait, was he killed by a truck? A Ryder truck?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Are you sure? I think she said it was a Ryder truck.” I yelped. “April, I saw it in my dream. When I was at your aunt’s!” I was nearly screaming now. “It was in my dream. I saw it happen!” I wasn’t going to tell April about the other details, my own death, or the fact that I’d been planning Phil’s murder in my dream, but this was bad enough.

“You actually saw it? Like you predicted his death?” April stared at me, and I gulped.

“Yes.” I jumped.

“She brought this over. Not that I can read it.”

April handed me a folded newspaper. It was a copy of ‘The New Russian Word,’ Vlada’s favorite. She still subscribed to the weekly print edition and read it diligently, cover to cover, keeping old newspapers stacked in her living room and reusing them to wrap gifts.

“I think this is it.” April unfolded the paper, and I saw a huge photo of my step-father in a suit and tie. It must have been recent, for he looked older, and nearly completely bald. The photo had a black thick outline and I read the text, slowly putting the Russian letters together.

Philip Begunov.

Gone too soon. Philip Begunov was killed in a tragic accident. A talented scientist, Philip moved to the United States in 1990 and launched a successful career. He is survived by his mother, Oxana Begunova, his wife Marina and his son, Denis.

There wasn’t one mention of me or Sergei, and I swallowed hard. Nothing about being ‘preceded in death’ by Mama. I guess no one mentioned ex-wives in an obituary? The rejection still cut like a knife, a reminder of how we had been discarded from Phil’s life. But there wasn’t the same sense of urgency as I felt before. No anger rose in me. Mama’s death was now avenged. As the realization sunk in, I stared at the newspaper. My eyes came into focus and I saw the dates.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

July 13, 1952- August 8, 2008.

“April, look at the date.” I pointed to the newspaper. “It says August 8th. He was killed on my birthday. The actual day we were at your aunt’s!”

“Oh, wow.”

“I know. So I somehow channeled his death? Is that even normal?” I stared at the newspaper in disbelief.

“I guess so. Was that what you saw? That he died on your birthday?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Actually, no, he died on Mother’s day. In my dream that is.” I could clearly see my vision now, stalking Phil at Trader Joe’s, lying in wait, and then the Ryder truck appearing out of nowhere. Crushing my nemesis, my own figure behind the wheel. Another detail I wouldn’t be sharing with April.

“Oh. Mother’s day. I’m sorry. Rodion, I know that guy really messed you guys up.”

“Yes.” I swallowed hard. That was one way of putting it.

“So maybe there is a way for you to move on with your life now?” I knew April meant well and did my best to play along.

“To move on? How?”

“I mean, the guy’s gone, right? So there isn’t much you can do.”

“But April, I saw it. I actually saw what happened to him.”

“Aunt Molly did say you had a strong channel. And she also said some of the stuff might come true, and some might not.”

“You mean that stuff about a movie script?”

“Yeah. I guess this is one script that was actually made into a movie.”

The knife! I remembered it that very second and ran over to the shelf. Sergei and I kept it behind the urn with Mama’s remains. But the urn wasn’t there. Neither was the knife. Instead, there were books: The two-volume Russian edition of the ‘Count of Monte Cristo’ we had brought with us from Moscow, the English one I’d gotten, and another set of books I didn’t recognize. I frowned. It was a beautiful hard-cover edition of ‘Crime and Punishment’ by Dostoyevsky, with sprayed edges. I opened the book and stared at it, wide-eyed.

“Did you finally decide to read it?” April asked, walking over to me.

“Crime and Punishment?” I mumbled, flipping through the book.

“Yes! You’ve had all summer to read it.” April shook her head in mock indignation. “I got it for you as your graduation gift.”

“You got me this?”

“Yep. And you got me my necklace. Which I absolutely love.” She produced a silver chain and two hearts intertwined.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Don’t you remember?” April gave me a curious stare.

I was about to respond, but Vlada came in, carrying a huge mug of tea, steam rising. The smell coming from it did not bode well for me. It must have been one of Vlada’s herbal recipes. Vlada believed that for a cure to work, it had to make you suffer. A tea had to be scalding hot, bitter and strong, an ointment had to burn. “Otherwise you don’t know if it’s working!” She would add proudly, administering her treatments.

“Rodion, sweetheart, here, this will make you feel better.” She handed me the mug, a look of pride on her face. “It’s dandelion and ginger.”

“I didn’t know you can make dandelion tea,” April said, her voice full of awe.

“Absolutely. I’ll give you the recipe. It’s an amazing treatment for just about anything. Better than all your fancy organic recipes.” Vlada’s eyes lit up. “Here, Rodion, please drink the whole thing.”

“Thank you.” I accepted the mug and nearly dropped it. It was so hot. But Vlada watched me intently, and I forced myself to take a sip. I couldn’t refuse her. It would be the gravest offense.

“So, this is it.” Vlada said, pointing to the newspaper. “Zhanna heard it from one of her clients. The whole community is talking about it. It happened right on Forward Avenue, right in front of his mother’s building. No witnesses. A hit and run.”

“Was he hit by a Ryder truck?” I asked, gulping.

“A Ryder truck? Did I say that?” Vlada opened her eyes wide.

“Yes, on the phone.” I nodded vigorously.

“Oh, maybe. Zhanna said something about it being a larger car. That’s what the police think. I guess someone saw a truck. It’s that awful construction site, has been going on for years now. That place is such an eyesore. But at this point, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Vlada sighed. “Just to think, things could have turned out differently for all of us.”

“Yes.” I noticed April looking from me to Vlada with concern.

“I have to say, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” Vlada scanned the room, as if to make sure no one but us was listening. “But I’m not going to feel sorry for him. Not after what he did to poor Lydia.” Vlada crossed herself, right to left, the Orthodox way. “And to you and your brother.” She added after a pause.

I took another sip of the tea. It was bitter and my eyes watered. It might have been the tears, but I blinked them away. I wasn’t about to cry in front of April again. Once was enough.

I took a deep breath and looked at Vlada,

“It’s probably not the right thing to say, but things did work out, didn’t they?”

“What do you mean?” Vlada raised her eyebrows.

“I mean, Sergei and I, we got to come and live with you. So in a way, we should be grateful to Phil for bringing us together.”

I’d never openly thanked Vlada for being there for us all of these years, for supporting us, for raising us, for welcoming two orphans into her family. It felt good to do so. The opened newspaper with Phil’s photograph stared at me, and I folded it, disappearing him from view.

“Rodion, I am going to cry.” Vlada was now wiping tears away. “What a good boy you are. And April. The two of you. Such wonderful children.”

“We’re not children.” I protested.

“Oh, of course you are. So young. Thank you, Rodion. I love you.” Vlada said and gave me a huge bear hug.