Igor’s Remorse

Once Igor reached the end of the hallway, he was reticent to linger in this hellhole any longer, as it pressed his past into his skull too firmly. The ocean and the dismal halls reminded him of Rose’s suicide, which conflicted with his resentment toward Dmitri. In spite of being harrowed with guilt, he was also self-satisfied on a level too abstract for goodness to fathom, as it fed on the dregs of Peter’s platitudes. It was the first time he felt his own coldness, almost as a physical disease that might, at any moment, rear its jaundiced head. Though he wandered beneath the seafloor, he still heard the currents and foghorns above, while his memories landed upon a key event before her tragedy. The year she died Dmitri held an evening Christmas party, during which Igor heard Peter and Katya arguing in the attic. While Igor gulped down several glasses of champagne, he concernedly eavesdropped on Peter’s vile voice, which slipped into a monotone whenever his boundaries were tested.

Shifting to a normal intonation, Peter shouted, “Katya, we’re all under a lot of pressure right now, alright? We’d appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut and let the grownups handle this!”

“Why are you paranoid about an eleven-year-old?!” Katya cried. “I mean—for god sake, you’re scaring me! What’s gotten into you?!”

“Katya, listen to me!” Peter growled.

“Don’t grab me!”

“Shut up! I swear to God, I will—”

“What?! What are you gonna do?!” Katya yelled, weeping.

When Dmitri heard this, he ran furiously past Igor who was standing hunched and brooding below the stairs, tightly holding his glass while hoping it wouldn’t crack. His eyebrow raised in a trancelike manner, as Dmitri hurried upstairs and Peter berated Katya, “You’ve got guts, I’ll tell you that!”

“That’s it!” Dmitri screamed, as he slammed into the attic. “You made it Peter! Get the hell out!”

“We’re discussing something important. Would you please give us some space?” Peter said in a posh tone.

“Leave now!”

“See?! All you’ve gotta do is scream like a banshee, and everyone comes to the rescue! Where’s fucking Superman when I beg for mercy, huh?! Where’s the fucking SWAT team?! Wanna answer that?!” Peter screamed at Katya, his voice becoming nasal and unusually harsh.

“Get away from me!” Katya wept.

Igor suddenly formed the stance of a young boy, listening to his parents’ altercation. He heard a glass object of some sort, being thrown against the wall. Peter charged out of the room, hurried brusquely down the stairs and disappeared into the living room’s crowd, looking for colleagues with whom he could share his sob story. Dmitri and Katya followed, hounding after him with crazed determination, the kind that comes when part of one’s soul has resigned, while the rest is heated with cougarlike instinct.

“No games, Peter! Come on! I want you out of here now!” Dmitri bellowed, as he hurried through the crowd and Katya wiped the tears from her cheeks. Igor watched with his lip curled, as Peter lunged at Dmitri and threw him to the floor. He tried to punch Dmitri but was overpowered by his superior strength, as many friends and family members gasped, while others begged them to stop. The character Mortimer’s athletic build was modelled after Dmitri’s, and generally gave Peter’s classism greater ammunition, as he scorned what he thought was an apish rudeness. Dmitri pinned Peter to the floor and repeatedly punched him in the face, until Maxim pulled Dmitri off and Daniel dragged Peter towards the front door.