A chilling look at what lurks in the dark corners of an eleven-year-old boy’s twisted heart …
Michael Romanov is genius-bright. Cute. Self-reliant. Inventive. Ridiculous to think he’s a killer. A killer without remorse. Or regret. Or guilt. Impossible to believe he’s a psychopath.
His mother would rather kiss a cobra than touch him, but he never complains about her calculated insults and contempt. Never whines about his older brother’s relentless bullying. Never moans about his father’s overt collusion and neglect.
Pushed too far, Michael retaliates. He pulls off his brother’s murder without a hitch. Requiring more excitement, he orchestrates his mother’s descent into hell with the same cool detachment. Success is giddy.
What’s next?
Keeping his mother in his crosshairs sounds like fun …
Chapter 1
A Deadly Accident
On January 15, 1976, the plan to kill my older brother came to me fully formed.
Temperatures in København registered in the same range as those in Moscow. Everyone at Hovedbanegård (Copenhagen’s Central Train Station) wore fur-lined boots, coats, gloves, and hats. Only the stupidest bared their faces to the bitter wind and horizontal snow. Waiting passengers milled together like sheep seeking a bit of body heat.
My brother, shorter than most of the god-tall Danes, stood out because of his squared off torso—an aberrant gene, most likely, from our Finnish mother. The sheer mass of the crowd made pushing him—too close to the edge of the platform—too easy.
Everyone seemed to notice at once when he fell onto the track. Men shouted. Women screamed. Howled. Keened. As if their cries would halt the incoming train. As if the absolute volume of their cries would repel the massive engine bearing down on his stunned, prone body.
No one tried to stop me, an eleven-year-old boy, as I slipped through the crowd. Exultant over my first dispensation of justice. My chest burned with pride. Pride at my daring. Pride at executing my plan.
My only regret?
I wanted to proclaim what I had done from the rooftops. I soothed myself with the reminder that I would soon share every detail with the one person who would appreciate my brilliance and nerve.
Somehow, word of the accident spread to arriving passengers. The normally unflappable Danes were flapped. That realization kept me smiling as I trudged the opposite direction from the flock rushing toward the platform. The scalding heat in my belly countered the icy bite of snow mixed with sleet.
Morbid curiosity countered the same conditions for the fools running toward the tracks.
Five blocks from my school, I reflected on the rest of my plan. This was my first lesson in understanding implementation requires forethought and a willingness to accept personal discomfort.