General Fiction posted August 19, 2025

Chapters:

...19 20 -21- 22 ...

tfawcus

Tony Fawcus, ex-RAF Navigator and Junior School teacher, spent 22 years living on South Australia's Fleurieu Peninsula where he ran a small farm and a B&B cottage before his recent move back to Adelaide.

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He is an accomplished poet and is currently at the #84 spot on the rankings.

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The Departure

A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate

Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 21

by tfawcus

Background
Dmitri has recovered from catatonia in Elena's care. He is in love with Leila, who works for Elena, but Leila's aunt has summoned her to Turkiye because her mother is dying.

End of Chapter Twenty

'If you go to Kalynorad, it won't be easy. Those papers aren't handed over just because you ask. And Pavla's suggestion, although well-meaning, is fraught with danger. You could always stay here, you know, and help out at the clinic.' She knew as she said it that the third option was wishful thinking on her part.

He chose not to respond. Perhaps it was no choice at all, only the stillness of a boy who sensed the narrowing of his fate and didn't know what to do next.

And then the telephone rang.

Chapter Twenty-One

The phone shattered the silence with its cold, impersonal brrring-brrring. They seemed mesmerised, as if it were a cobra upreared to strike. After the third ring, Elena lifted the receiver.

Her voice was taut and attentive. 'Hello? Yes ... Is that you, Leila?' Then it relaxed in relief. 'Thank goodness. Where are you, dear?'

Dmitri was on his feet in an instant, edging closer.

Static crackled on the line. Leila's voice was thin but urgent, 'I'm still in Kyiv. The embassy said I can't apply for a permit from here. I have to be in Tükiye first.' Her words tumbled over one another, and her breath was quick, as if she were speaking while running. 'I have to catch a flight to Istanbul. That means heading south to Chisinau. I'm on my way to the Avtostantsiya bus station and might just make it in time, if I hurry.'

Dmitri gripped the back of a chair so hard the wood dug into his palm. He opened his mouth, but Elena shook her head, listening intently.

'When I get to Istanbul, my cousin will meet me. I can manage. Please tell Dmitri—'

Her words broke off. A pause. Then a sharp intake of breath, followed by a muffled cry. 'Oh, God... not you?' There were sounds of a scuffle. 'Get away from me, you pig!' Then the line went dead.

Elena held the receiver a moment longer, staring at it as though it might come alive again. Slowly, she set it down.

'She's still in Kyiv. She said she had to be in Tükiye to make her application, but the call was interrupted.' Elena's eyes flicked to Dmitri, then away. 'She was disconnected. It sounded as if she'd been accosted by someone she knew.'

'She needs me.' Dmitri's voice rang with certainty. 'Whoever that was, she's in trouble. I'm going after her.'

'No,' Elena said sharply. 'She has family in Istanbul. She can manage. If you go blundering in, you'll make matters worse.'

'She's not safe.' Dmitri snatched his coat from the peg. 'You don't understand—'

'Oh yes, I do,' Elena snapped. 'You've no money, no ticket, and no permission to leave the country. There's nothing you can do.'

'That's for me to find out.'

'Don't be a fool, Dmitri,' Pavla cut in. 'She has people there. Don't throw your future away chasing shadows.'

But their words only hardened his resolve. He realised neither woman would help him. If he wanted to reach Leila, he would have to betray them.

'Let me think about it. I need to be alone for a while.'

Pavla glanced uneasily at Elena after he had left the room. 'Do you think he'll be all right?'

'Yes, but he needs time to work things out. His thoughts are in turmoil at the moment.'

Pavla wasn't so sure. She had noticed the way his eyes dropped as he mumbled his excuses.

***

When he got upstairs, Dmitri paused. The door to Leila's room was ajar. Should he? Shouldn't he? The voices in the kitchen had fallen silent; a moment later, he heard the back door close. He glanced over his shoulder. Why not? He pushed the door open a fraction and peered in, almost as if he expected Leila to be there. But the bed was neatly made, and a book lay on the bedside table. He picked it up without thinking. Daddy’s Little Girl. His brow furrowed. It seemed so unlike her.
As he opened the cover, an envelope slipped out. He stooped and picked it up. The address read:

Miss Leila Haddad
c/o Elena Prishtina
Birch Road 7
Velinkra, Moreniv Raion
Ivano-Frankivsk Oblast
78034
Ukraine

There was a return address on the back:

Samira Haddad

Tent 242 - Haddad

Marwa Refugee Camp, Gaziantep Province
Türkiye

That was all he needed. A specific address in Türkiye to head for. He folded the envelope carefully and put it in his pocket. He stood by the window, looking for the last time across the garden to the mirrored surface of the lake and the grey haze of what lay beyond. Elena and Pavla were walking arm-in-arm towards the front gate and appeared to be deep in conversation. There was no time to lose. He hurried back to his room and packed his rucksack with a change of clothes, his passport, his sketchbook and—after a moment's hesitation—he slung Stanislav's satchel over his shoulder and raced downstairs.

Before leaving, he paused in the kitchen. Again, he hesitated. An earthenware jar sat on the shelf, half-hidden behind the flour tin. It held the money Elena kept from her jam and preserves; money intended for the clinic. His heart pounded as he thought of Leila's voice on the line and the fear in her final words. He raided the jar and pocketed its contents. Grabbing a scrap of paper from the dresser, he scrawled:

Forgive me. I'll pay you back.

He wedged the note under the jar and fled before his resolve broke.

***

The last of the snow drifted down in loose, lazy flakes as Dmitri jogged north along the Birch Road, leaving wisps of breath trailing in his wake. The unseasonable storm had abated, and the morning sun was beginning to break through gaps in the cloud. Small avalanches fell from the pine trees, disturbing squirrels and the foraging of small birds.

He leapt from side to side, avoiding puddles and drifted snow like a kid playing hopscotch. Several times, he slipped on wet leaves, but his balance was sure, and his heart hammered with exhilaration. For the first time since Kalynorad, he was on his own and answerable to no one.

He reached Moreniv station soon after midday and bought the cheapest ticket to Kyiv with Elena's stolen coins. The next train was due in an hour. When he entered the waiting room, a couple of old men glanced up incuriously from their newspapers. A woman wrapped in a multi-coloured coat stopped her knitting and gathered her things around her like a broody hen adjusting her nest, then she resumed with renewed vigour, pretending to ignore him.

He sat on a hard wooden bench opposite her, with shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep into his pockets, and he closed his eyes. Not long afterwards, a young couple joined them. From their hushed conversation, he gathered they were returning from a honeymoon in the Carpathian mountains. The man was wearing a standard-issue military uniform, and the girl clung to his shoulder like a limpet. Dmitri took out his sketchbook and started to draw.

The soldier shook the girl from his shoulder and glared at him. 'Hey! What are you up to?'

'A souvenir of your holiday. A keepsake for your lovely wife when you return to the front. No charge. A gift for a brave soldier.' He added a few more strokes to his lightning sketch and passed it across.

The soldier looked at it. 'Hey, that's good … isn't it, darling? Do one of my wife, and I'll pay you for it.'

The girl sat up straighter, pushed her hair back, and adopted a pose. Dmitri set to work with brisk efficiency, his pencil skimming across the page in swift, confident lines. He captured the girl’s likeness with practised ease, then his strokes grew more careful and deliberate. Her features emerged—eyes bright with laughter, lips parted—each detail an attempt to preserve a fleeting moment. Yet in rendering her beauty, Dmitri felt a shadow of something deeper, an echo of longing that coloured his perception. The image he created blended reality and imagination, a subtle trace of someone he remembered, someone he had lost.

The soldier was delighted. He peeled two five-hundred-hryvnia notes from a bankroll and kissed the precious drawing, clasping it to his heart. His girl purred on his arm.

Dmitri grinned foolishly, pocketed the notes, and mumbled his thanks. The money was real, solid, and a validation of his worth. His first sale.

Yet as the girl nestled back against her soldier, Dmitri felt a hollowness in his chest. He had captured her beauty too easily and too cheaply, trading a piece of himself for two crumpled notes.

He closed his sketchbook. Tomorrow, he told himself, things would be different.

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Characters

Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy recovering from catatonia after the death of his twin sister in a bombing.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri, aiding his recovery.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl employed by Elena whom Dmitri has fallen in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who has been giving Dmitri lessons.

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