Nick thought about it. And made up his decision. He would continue to read.

He couldn’t stop himself, he had to know. For a split second, he saw his life pass before his eyes. The hard way to the top. His family’s support from far, far away. His home-sickness. The other Backstreet Boys. His brothers. The fans, cheering and screaming his name, singing along in the songs, although they didn’t know what the lyrics meant. The last year. The huge success. The money. The kidnapping. The long, lonely hours in the cold, dark room. The need to know why. Why.

The next second he saw himself in Vladimir. Alone, invalidated, poor. The feeling of being abandoned. His life shattered. Just because of this. Did he really have to do this? Yes.

He concentrated on the text again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I wish I could make you not read this. But I can’t. Of course, I could have not sent it to you, but I want to give you a chance. The e-mail I‘m using is my old on Pravda, I don’t think they will check it.

Before I start, I will tell you my mistakes, and I can only hope that you will learn from them, and don’t have to suffer like I have.

The first mistake I did was the obvious. I’m a reporter, I report. I also put my own opinions in my articles. I didn’t realise that what I wrote was dangerous for me until it was too late.

That is lesson number one, Alexandrevitj. Don’t tell your friends what you are doing, no matter how much you want to. They may be trustworthy, but if you tell your friend, he will tell his friend. And so on, until the wrong person hears it.

My second mistake was to dig deeper into this. I should have realised that I shouldn’t have digged in this. But it’s always easy to be after-wise.

The third mistake I made was a follow-up to mistake number two. Since I didn’t understand what I was doing, I wasn’t prepared of what would come.

Protect yourself, Alexandrevitj. Keep persons close to you all time, and if you can, get a weapon. It’s just an advice, but for your own safety, follow it.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next hour or so, Nick sat and read Vladimirs collection. He was almost finished, when he read a part that started like this:

"One of the witnesses insisted that she had seen a young girl at the beach, before the dead men were found. The girl was described as small, about 20 years old and pretty. She had black hair in a pony-tail and wore dark clothes. She looked as though she had been out swimming"

Nick knew it had to be Stacey. He continued reading.

"I later tracked her down, via some contacts of mine. When I met her, my first impression was that she was pretty. But that wasn’t all. After a closer look I noticed something else. A hardness in her eyes, and a sharp brain. She told me to leave all this alone, not to care about it. She said that "we will take care of everything". I didn’t understand what she meant, and even if I had, that wouldn’t have stopped me. I was determined to find out more of this.

After they had tortured me she came to me again. At first, I didn’t recognise her, she had changed her hair and eye-colour. She told me she was sorry for what had happened and asked me if there was anything she could do for me.

I said no, all I wanted at that time was being left alone. But she came back, several times. She comforted me and told me what had really happened"

Nick continued to read, and wasn’t surprised when he read an exact description of what Stacey had told him in the car.

When he was finished, he shut down the computer and decided to rest a bit. It was now late, and he wanted to think this through.

He went to bed, unaware of the eyes following his every movement out in the dark. Unaware of the whispers in the night. Unaware of the persons wanting to hurt him.