At noon the sun awakens as rural Dalton highway is painted on the arctic, Alaskan horizon. Silhouetted against the burning haze, a haunted asylum pierces the never-ending sky.
A woman screams.
A silken voice and a powerful grip to the throat persuades her silence. His classic Russian features, not unlike the minted image of Czar Nicolas II, remain frozen in time. “Please do not disappoint me like the others, my darling.”
The doorbell chimes. He releases his hold and caresses her cheek. “Natasha,” escapes his lips as he ascends the creaky wooden stairs. A calm hand opens the door. The glistening snow on the front porch pales against Aleksei’s skin and charming smile.
The callused hand of detective Danny Fitzpatrick flashes a search warrant. His puffy, bloodshot eyes lock onto Aleksei’s …
The young woman cries out, but only Aleksei hears. They will never find you my dear. This beaten and hung over man does not have a clue.
Hours later, the detective crosses the threshold and shudders as if encased in a block of ice. The sun drops to sleep and an eerie shadow creeps alongside him. He shakes his head.
Aleksei watches from the peephole. You feel my immortal essence … do you not? A forceful hand bolts the door. Aleksei probes his elongating eye teeth.