“Are you a—”
“A ghost? That is the only conclusion I can reach, unless you have another suggestion we can entertain. I have put a lot of thought into it, and the possibilities are quite limited. Any suggestions, sir?”
Holy shit, what was happening? Had he finally snapped? “No, nothing, Your Majesty.” He led the way out to the living room area. Still shaken, he looked over his shoulder to see if she was following, which she was.
She smiled. “Officially, it is, or was, ‘Your Imperial Highness’, but among my dear friends I was Anastasia, Ana, or even, to those who dared, Shvibzik—‘Little Imp’.”
Jerry wandered into the kitchen, sleep still clouding his eyes, and started the coffee maker with Colombian roast. This was no time for decaf. “‘Little Imp’?”
“A nickname.”
Jerry leaned back against the counter, waiting for the much-needed coffee. “Your English is excellent, for a Russian Princess.”
Ana leaned forward, her elbows on the kitchen island. “My Great-Grandmother was Victoria, Queen of England. My mother insisted that we be fluent in both languages, in addition to French. Until our last few months, when our captors forbade it, Mother preferred to speak English with us in our own quarters. As for my title, I am, or was, in fact, a Grand Duchess, not a Princess. I have always thought of princesses more as characters from fairytales.”
“Sorry. My Russian history is a bit weak, to say the least.” The single-serve coffee filled the cup behind him.
“Please do not worry yourself over it, Jerry. I neither asked for the title, nor did I ever really enjoy using it except in play. Call me Ana, please. And you may not know Russia’s history, but I do not know Russia’s predstavit’—present—so we both have much to teach each other.”
Jerry glanced at the wall clock. Eleven o’clock. “Sorry, but I have to be at work soon, Ana, so I’m afraid the lessons will have to wait. Make yourself at home. It’s been almost a hundred years since your… since you were… it’s a new millennium but ghosts still aren’t all that common. Matter of fact, you’re my first.”
“It is my first time, too. What year is it, Jerry?” The sadness in her voice broke through Jerry’s confusion.
“The year? Now? 2016.”
“Twenty-sixteen? Two thousand and sixteen?” Her sadness became deep loss. Her entire demeanour deflated. Her shoulders sagged, her head hung down, and her clasped hands trembled.
“I’m sorry, Ana. What I’m trying to say is that you might not want to let anyone else see you. Hell, I don’t even know if anyone else can see you.”
“I understand. I will remain here, Jerry. I have a great deal to think on. To the world it has been nearly a century since my family was murdered in cold blood, but for me it feels much more recent.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. How much do you remember?” He sipped his coffee, welcoming the heat as it pushed a little against the damp of Victoria’s winter. “I’m sorry. Would you like a cup?” He nodded at his own steaming cup.
“No, thank you. I am not certain if I can.” She frowned, thinking about his question. “I remember quite a lot, but as a wise man once said, ‘I do not know how much I cannot remember.’” She leaned close, her voice lowering. “I am boyashchiysya—afraid—Jerry. I do not think I should be here. Why am I? Where am I?”
“Where? That’s easy. Believe it or not, this is Victoria, British Columbia, Canada—the city named after your great-grandmother. As for ‘why’, I have no idea, but we’ll figure it all out. In the meantime, relax. You’re safe here—I live alone, except for the fish, Sushi.”
“Sushi?” She said the name slowly, smiling. “Such a gentle, beautiful name.”
Moving to the couch, Jerry picked up the remote control and turned on the television. “Maybe, but it means a Japanese rice dish often topped with raw fish.” The date, time, and channel appeared briefly on the flatscreen as it started up.
Ana clapped her hands, excitedly. “So this is not a dark mirror after all!”
“It’s a television. Sometimes the stuff on here is violent and depressing, but there are a few chuckles—laughs—to be had, too. Think of it as radio, with pictures.”
“Or motion pictures with sound,” Ana added.
“Exactly! This is the remote control.” He held it up for her to see. “These two buttons change the channels—there are over two hundred. The buttons are all labelled. Enjoy.”
“I will.” She sat on the other end of the couch. “My sincere thanks, Jerry. Now, should you not be preparing to go to your workplace?”
“Definitely.” He put the remote on the table in front of Ana and got up.
“Jerry?
“Yeah? Yes?”
“S Roždestvom Khristovym! Merry Christmas.”
Jerry was caught off guard, having forgotten what day it was. “Oh. Merry Christmas, Ana. How did you know?”
“A little trick I learned from Grigori: ‘See everything. Miss nothing.’ When you turned on the telly-vision, the date appeared.”
“Smart girl. Grigori?”
“Grigori Rasputin—a monk who was trying to heal my brother. He, too, was murdered. Have you heard of Grigori?”
He chuckled. “Definitely. He’s almost as famous as you are. They even have a song about him.”
“A song about Grigori?”
“I’ll see if I can track down a copy of it for you.”
Ana smiled and Jerry saw the imp in her. “Yes, please. Now, go—you have responsibilities, and I need to rest again. I never thought a ghost could get tired, but I find that it is taking a great deal of strength just to speak and hear. Now that I know that there is more than the dark and shadows of the book, I am less afraid to return to it for short times.”
“No problem. You rest and I’ll work. Merry Christmas, Anastasia—Shvibzik.”
The young Grand Duchess giggled, and returned to the book, but not before she winked at her host.
When she was gone, Jerry rubbed his eyes with both palms and then blinked to clear his head. “What the hell is going on here?”
Chapter Eight
@TheTaoOfJerr: “Life is like a beautiful melody, only the lyrics are messed up.”
HIS FIRST SHORT day of actually tackling some of his new Station Manager duties went smoothly, in Jerry’s humble opinion. Being Christmas Day there was only a skeleton crew working—the current on-air personality, the producer, the security guard, and one or two others who dropped in briefly to wish the on-duty staff a Merry Christmas. Jerry was able to relax and take his time to discover some of the subtle differences between British Columbia advertising regulations and the ones he was accustomed to back in Ontario, as well as getting a better handle on his new staff, their duties, and their skills.
His email in-box held pass-codes and H/R file locations from Manny, so Jerry took some time to appreciate both the depth and the talent of his new radio family. He was impressed. As he’d seen at his party, Manny had hired some really off-the-wall characters, but now that Jerry could peruse their resumes and accomplishments, he saw that Manny knew exactly what he had in each one of them. Yes, Jerry was definitely impressed. Unfortunately, it probably took him twice as long as it should have to get through the files because he kept getting distracted by thoughts of the strange, ghostly girl back in the loft. He wasted nearly an hour researching Anastasia and her life and family on the web, and emailing the results to his personal email account for later perusal.