Blood memory

Oscar was incredibly frightened. He couldn't believe his eyes. On top of everything, the room suddenly became sharply cold, which Oscar also felt. Even though the fireplace in the room was burning and the window was closed. "V-Vanessa...?" On the canvas, instead of his mother, was Vanessa Fiedler – another one of Oscar's victims. Now the man was sure that none of this was a dream or hallucinations. "Oscar..." The man froze in shock when he heard a painfully familiar female voice. Oscar became so nervous that droplets of sweat began to run down his forehead. "Oscar!" the female voice repeated, but this time a little louder. The Dadaist turned sharply toward the voice, and when he saw who was calling him, his eyes widened and he began to tremble violently. "V-Vanessa... Vanessa... how did you..." In the doorway stood the transparent silhouette of a woman, though she was not physically or truly present. Vanessa looked at him, her empty gaze burning through him. Her face was smeared with blood, her eyes were white. There were deep wounds in her abdomen, apparently made by a knife. There were strangulation marks on her neck. The young woman was dressed in the very same clothes she had worn on the day of the murder: a black skirt, a white blouse, and a green jacket – but all stained with crimson blood. "I told you, Oscar, that your works are 'burning garbage.' So why do you continue to create your worthless works?" the silhouette spoke in a voice that was simultaneously calm and terrifying, making Oscar tremble even more. The man stared at her, unable to move or utter a single word. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, hoping the spirit had just been his imagination. And indeed, Vanessa was no longer in the doorway, and Oscar anxiously looked around, hoping not to see her again and preparing to relax a little. "And do you know why your works are 'garbage,' Oscar?" the woman's voice sounded again. Oscar spun around sharply toward the voice and saw that Vanessa was now standing by the window. The daylight fell on the woman, obscuring her front, which looked even more terrifying. "Do you know, or don't you? I'm asking you!" the victim repeated, raising her voice. "V-Vanessa... W-what do you want?? How are you even..." The woman's silhouette vanished again. Right before Oscar's eyes. This time, the disappearance of the spirit did not calm him, but on the contrary, alarmed him even more, because now he didn't know where she would appear next. At that moment, Oscar experienced some of the strongest emotions of his life. His shirt became literally soaked with sweat, so terrified was he, but he tried his hardest to suppress his fear, and he was doing rather well. "W-well, wh-where did she g-go?.." the man stammered. "I've ex-experienced more em-emotions in the last few days than in my entire life put together... Aaaaah!" the artist cried out. Completely unexpectedly, Vanessa's silhouette appeared right in front of Oscar's face. The woman's spirit, with her bloody face and snow-white eyes, looked directly into his eyes, as if peering into his very soul, as if seeing right through him, and Oscar could feel it. "I'm here, Oscar. Here I am." Startled, the man flinched and fell onto his elbows, letting out a pathetic "Ah!" "Oscar, what's wrong with you?" Vanessa's spirit asked. "Why are you so scared?" Vanessa took him by the shoulders and began to shake him. "Let me go!" Oscar shouted, trying to push the victim away. "Oscar!" Oscar squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. When he opened them, instead of Vanessa, there was another person. "Oscar! What is wrong with you?!" "Zhdán... is that you?" It turned out to be his friend Zhdán. Oscar was incredibly happy to see him. The evil spirit of Vanessa was no longer there, and that was the main thing for him. "Or was it a hallucination?" Oscar thought. To be sure, Oscar looked at his picture. There, as before, was his mother. "Imagined it? Again?" Oscar didn't know what to think. Vanessa's appearance now seemed both real and imaginary to him. The sweat on his face gradually dried, and he began to breathe more calmly. "Well, who else would it be? Of course it's me. Buddy, what happened?" Oscar was silent for a moment, then answered: "I... I don't really know..." Oscar couldn't tell him about what he had been experiencing since returning home, because Zhdán didn't know about the crimes Oscar had committed in Zurich. But he also didn't want to be taken for a madman. "Come on, get up. The floor is cold. Give me your hand." The man reached out his hand to the killer to help him up. Oscar stood up and looked again at the Dadaist portrait of his mother, which he had just begun. Zhdán couldn't help but notice his creation. "Making art in honor of your mother?" Oscar didn't answer. He just looked at his friend. "You were wrong to do that back then," Zhdán said. "Aunt Irén was very worried..." Oscar turned away in displeasure, letting his friend know that he had no desire to discuss his mother. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to know more about her after he had left home. Because of this, the man was torn in two – one part, full of principles and pride, forced Oscar to remain silent, while the other yearned to make him say: "Tell me," and the second part got its way. "Tell me what happened to her after I left?" Zhdán sighed, preparing to begin his story. ---

Several years ago.

A woman sat on the doorstep of the house, wiping bitter tears from her reddened eyes with a white handkerchief. A young man – their neighbor and good acquaintance – saw her in this state. He approached the woman and squatted down. "Aunt Irén, are you crying again?" Zhdán asked carefully. The woman sobbed, sniffled, and said in a trembling voice: "What else is there for me to do, Zhdán? My son... left me all alone... and left... didn't even say where..." "Aunt Irén, you know Oscar," he began. "He always goes somewhere when he's angry... I'm sure he'll be back in a few days." The woman wiped her eyes with her handkerchief again, raised her head, and looked into Zhdán's eyes. "He won't come back... I know my son, he won't come back..." "Aunt Irén..." "Go away, Zhdán..." the woman interrupted him. "Go, leave me alone..." ---

Present day.

"Well, something like that... She was very worried when you left... She was always sad after that. She walked around all gloomy and broken." "And then what?" Oscar asked with interest. "And then... then she disappeared. Lately, she just wasn't seen anymore. We decided to check the house – she was nowhere to be found, no one had seen her... No one knows where she went or what happened to her..." "Probably found herself a new sugar daddy and left with him," Oscar thought, but at the same time, he doubted his own words. Suddenly, a strange sound came – the front door opened. The men exchanged glances. Oscar thought it might be the manifestation of some spirit, which made him nervous again, but he tried not to show it to Zhdán and to remain calm. "Are you expecting someone?" "N-no..." Oscar answered. The rustling continued. Oscar, suppressing his fear, decided to check the source of the sound. He slowly walked toward the entryway and saw a middle-aged woman dressed in old, ragged clothes. The woman didn't see the young men at first. As soon as she closed the door and prepared to go further, she stopped abruptly when she finally saw them. Her face showed that she hadn't expected to see anyone here, especially the one on whom her attention focused more sharply. The same was happening with Oscar – he was ready to see anyone and anything, but not her. Zhdán stood a little further back, waiting to see what would happen next, though he was no less surprised by this sudden encounter. "Oscar?" the woman said in a quiet, gentle voice. Oscar stared at her. Only he knew what emotions he was experiencing then and what thoughts were running through his head. "Mother?" They stood opposite each other, looking into each other's eyes, and neither dared to make the first move. Zhdán felt awkward and decided to leave silently. No one even noticed. Tears appeared on the woman's cheeks. She slowly walked toward Oscar. As she approached, Oscar's expression also changed – it became more and more displeased. Irén looked into his eyes. "Oscar..." The man did not respond. He just continued to look into her eyes. Irén slowly raised her hands and touched his cheeks. Oscar felt disgust but did not resist. "So long..." the woman began in a hoarse voice... "So long since I've seen you... Where have you been?" Oscar found all this very awkward and irritating at the same time. He did not react yet. "Where did you go that day? Why did you leave me alone?.. Where..." Oscar couldn't take it anymore and threw his mother's hands away from his face. "Enough!" the man shouted. The woman flinched at this sudden action and looked at her son with a surprised and bewildered expression. "What difference does it make where I was?" Oscar shouted. "Did you suddenly start worrying about me?" Irén, with wet eyes and cheeks, looked at him and listened. She did not interrupt him. Oscar became more and more filled with rage: his eyes turned red, and he clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his skin and his knuckles turned white. "You care where I was and how I was?" Oscar continued to shout. "Why weren't you interested in me before?" After a short pause: "Why did you ignore me and my condition when I asked you not to bring all sorts of men to our house, knowing full well how I feel about it and how it affects me?!" Oscar's anger reached its peak – he grabbed his mother by the shoulders and began to shake her. To the touch, the woman was far too cold. Oscar didn't pay attention to this, attributing it to her being very cold. The woman, her head lowered, continued to listen to him. "Why are you silent? Why aren't you answering my questions?! Have you nothing to say to me?" The man bombarded Irén with questions. He shook her harder, as if losing control of himself. "Speak! Why did you come here?!" With these words, Oscar pushed his mother slightly. Havel laughed hysterically and said: "Why can't you answer a single one of my questions, Irén Havel?" An awkward and tense silence fell. Oscar looked at her with disgust, while the woman continued to stare at the floor with her head lowered. "You're right, son..." Irén whispered quietly. "Don't you dare call me that!" Oscar shouted. "Never again!" "You're right, Oscar..." Irén rephrased her earlier words and continued: "You have every right to hate me and blame me..." Now it was Irén's turn to speak, and Oscar's to listen. "I admit that I was a bad mother and that I caused you a lot of pain, but..." "But what?" Oscar interrupted her. "Are you going to make excuses for yourself now? Don't even try, you have no excuse." Oscar found it simultaneously very painful to say such things to his mother, but he was also pleased that he could finally tell her everything. "Of course, you're right about that too... But... what was I supposed to do?..." Irén finally raised her head and looked into her son's eyes with eyes red from tears. "Your father left us when you was a month and a half old." The man looked at his mother with an angry gaze. "In those difficult times, I was forced to find money by any means to feed us..." Oscar listened to her, but only now did he notice that something was not quite right with her voice: it was somehow inhuman, it didn't sound natural. Or did it just seem that way to him? The Dadaist decided to ignore it, because now he was concerned with something else. "And you found no other way out than to drag strange men to our house?" The woman lowered her head again, unable to justify her past actions. Oscar looked at her. His gaze was full of hatred, pity, and disgust. "You disgust me. I feel sorry for you... There is no excuse for your actions." "You're right... There really is no excuse for me... I should go. I won't bother you anymore..." Irén slowly turned around, preparing to open the door and leave. "Wait." The woman froze, raising her gaze. She awaited her son's further words. "Yes, I hate you. I hate and despise you with all my heart, and I want you to know that for the rest of your days. But you are still my mother..." These words stung Irén, and tears appeared in her eyes again. "I won't let you go out in such a blizzard today. Stay for a couple of days, then go wherever you want. You can stay in your room." The woman slowly turned around and looked at her son. "But don't you dare even appear before my eyes. For me, you no longer exist." Irén didn't answer, just continued to look at her son. Oscar hurriedly went to his room. He sat on his bed and, like a little boy, hugged his knees and cried. "Why is this happening to me? Why me of all people?!" His gaze fell on the unfinished art piece of his mother, which he had never completed. Oscar looked at it for a while, then lay down, turned to face the wall, and fell asleep. Irén was in her room. The old woman stood in front of the mirror and looked into it. A slight smile appeared on her face. But this smile was unusual...