Russian, gemstone, bratwurst, pillow, paper

The train rattled along the deserted Russian countryside shifting suddenly side to side. A film of moisture on the windows blurred the passing landscape. Ivan shifted in the hard grey seat, dreading the next stop. She would be there. Paper in hand. Wanting him to sign immediately. His power of attorney reached only so far. He feared Katrina would rather see him hit by the train than speak in a civil manner.

The siblings looked like twins. Eggshell colored hair, tall, straight Danish figures, each with a touch of wolf-blue eyes. Or, at least that’s what everyone said. He wished it weren’t true. Kat was calculating and self-motivated. He could never predict her next move, but he knew it would be unpredictable. She could be mean and unforgiving – the reason they hadn’t spoken in 5 years.

Today the issue was the gemstone. A 10-carat ruby handed down through generations that everyone said was cursed. Kat wanted it. Badly. Ivan was afraid she might do anything to possess it. The train shuttered to a stop and Ivan eased himself down the slippery metal steps to the brick platform. New beads of sweat ran down the crease in his back. Hesitant, he slowly looked right and left – no one except a street vendor selling bratwurst. Opening the brass doors of the terminal, a cold musty chill rushed over him. Seated in the corner on a long wooden bench sat Kat. Two large men stood on either side, one with a gun the other with a knife. Kat’s mouth was stuffed with a small green pillow, solidly taped with duct tape. Ivan’s chest pounded against his ribs. The gemstone curse...