Seven Elephants

He handed Anna a plastic bag. Inside were three red porcelain elephants—exactly like the green ones on the shelf.

"And that's not all," the officer placed a school register on the table. "Look at these markings."

Anna opened the register. Next to some names were colored dots: blue, green, red.

"Red dots—next to the names of three girls from Sophia's parallel class," explained the officer.

"Check on these girls. Immediately," Anna ordered, feeling everything inside her tighten with anxiety.

"Also, we found documents in his home," the officer continued. "In the name of… Igor Vasilyev."

"Vasilyev?" Anna frowned. "The same one? From Tver?"

"Yes. Among the documents—letters of recommendation from the music school in Tver, dated twenty years earlier."

Anna picked up one of the green elephants from the shelf, carefully examining the porcelain figurine. What did these colors mean? Why had Sokolov so meticulously marked children in his lists?

"Dorokhov," she carefully put the elephant back in place. "I need all information about Sokolov's connections. Phone calls, correspondence, meetings. Especially with Viktor Rogov. And check everyone who signed his recommendations."

"Already working on it."

Another officer appeared in the doorway.

"Anna Vitalyevna, they called from the detention center. Viktor Rogov is demanding to see you. Says he's ready to testify."

"About what?"

"About Sophia. And about where to find her."

Anna gathered the documents into a folder.

"Dorokhov, check all psychological centers and clinics in the city. Especially those that work with children."

"Why psychological centers specifically?"

"Intuition," Anna headed for the exit. "And one more thing—find out if Sophia or Elena Andreevna underwent any psychological therapy in recent years."

In the car, Anna reviewed photographs of Sokolov's office. Cabinet, desk, shelf with elephants… In one of the photographs on the wall, she noticed a small framed picture: Sokolov with a group of children. And next to him—a middle-aged man in a formal suit. Something in his face seemed familiar to Anna, but she couldn't place where she had seen him.

Anna sent the photo to Dorokhov with a note: "Find out who this person is next to Sokolov." Then she started the car and drove to the detention center.

The story was becoming increasingly complex. The trail led into the past, to Tver, to that same case from twenty years ago. But now Anna felt that something greater was involved than simply repeating an old scenario. Something systematic, calculated, almost… professional.

And in Sokolov's office, seven green porcelain elephants on the shelf continued to keep their secrets. Secrets whose unraveling could cost the lives of not only Sophia Velichko, but also other children whose names were marked with colored dots in the register.

Chapter 7: In Darkness

The first thing Sophia felt upon regaining consciousness was the cold. A piercing, damp cold that numbed her fingers and caught her breath. She tried to move, but her body refused to obey, as if it were someone else's. Her thoughts were tangled and blurred, like drawings on a fogged-up window.

"Where am I?" The question hung silently in the darkness. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the absence of light. Shadows. Silhouettes. Some objects around her.

Sophia strained her memory. The last thing she remembered was walking to school. The white jacket. Mom's "Have a good day." And then… a gray car? A man asking for directions? After that—emptiness.

She tried to sit up. Her head spun, nausea rose in her throat. She managed it anyway. She felt the surface beneath her—a hard bed with a metal frame. A sheet, blanket, pillow. Next to it—a small table. Something stood on it.

Sophia reached out and felt cold porcelain. A small statuette. Running her fingers over the smooth surface, she recognized the shape—an elephant. Just like the ones she collected at home. Only this one was… What color was it? Impossible to tell in the darkness.

Her heart beat faster. "Viktor? Is he the one who took me?" The thought burned through her consciousness. Or was it someone else?

Somewhere in the distance, footsteps were heard. Firm, measured—someone was approaching. Sophia froze, clutching the porcelain figurine in her hand. The footsteps stopped outside a door that she couldn't yet make out in the darkness. The sound of a key in the lock. Creaking hinges.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway. The light came on—dim, yellowish, but after complete darkness, it seemed blinding. Sophia squinted, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a man in a formal dark suit before her.

"Good morning, Sophia," the voice sounded gentle, almost friendly. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer, continuing to grip the elephant in her hand. The man was tall, with gray temples and a neat beard. Glasses in thin frames. His gaze was attentive, studying. In his hands—a folder with some papers.

"My name is Doctor Berkut. Alexander Viktorovich. I'm here to help you."

"Where am I?" Sophia's voice sounded hoarse, as if she hadn't spoken for several days.

"In a safe place," he smiled reservedly. "A temporary shelter until we prepare something more… suitable for you."

The man came closer and sat on a chair near the bed. His gaze fell on the statuette in the girl's hand.

"I see you've already met our little friend," he nodded at the elephant. "You know what's interesting? This elephant is green. The color of hope. The color of the future."

Sophia looked at the figurine. In the lamplight, the porcelain indeed had a soft green hue, like young spring grass.

"Why am I here?" she tried to speak firmly, but her voice trembled.

"Oh, that's the right question," Berkut opened the folder. "You're here because you're special, Sophia. You passed the selection. You deserve to be part of something greater than an ordinary life."

He took a photograph from the folder and placed it before her. In the picture, Sophia was in the schoolyard, laughing, with books in her hands. Next to it were several more photographs: Sophia with her mother, Sophia near her house, Sophia in physical education class.

"We've been watching you for a long time," Berkut continued. "And others like you. Special children who deserve a better future."

"My mom will look for me," Sophia tried to make her voice sound confident. "And the police are already searching."

"Undoubtedly," he smiled again, this time sincerely. "Your mom is a wonderful woman. Elena Andreevna, right? She's very worried. But unfortunately, she's looking in the wrong places. As is the police."

Berkut stood and approached the door.

"Rest, Sophia. Dinner will be soon. And then… we'll begin preparing you."

"For what?"

"For a new life," he turned at the doorway. "For the role you'll play in our little… collection."

The door closed. The lock clicked. The light remained on, and now Sophia could look around. A small room with concrete walls. A bed, table, chair. A small window near the ceiling, barred and covered with thick fabric—not even a hint of daylight penetrated through it. In the corner—a door, probably leading to a bathroom.

Sophia looked again at the green elephant in her hand. And only now did she notice. On the base of the figurine was an inscription, scratched with a thin sharp object: "Don't trust. Run. K."

Her heart beat faster. Who was K? And what were they warning about?

Outside, the rain was making noise. Somewhere in the corridor, muffled voices could be heard.

The steel door of the isolation cell closed behind Anna with a heavy clang. Viktor Rogov, also known as Viktor Mikhailovich Astakhov, sat at a metal table, his hands bound by handcuffs attached to the tabletop. When Anna entered, he raised his head and smiled slightly.

"I knew you would come," his voice sounded calm, almost relaxed. "Once you learned about Igor's escape, you'd want to talk to me."

"How do you know about his escape?" Anna sat opposite him, carefully studying the prisoner's face.

"We're connected, detective. Much more deeply than you can imagine," Viktor leaned forward. "Igor, me, others… we are all instruments in someone else's hands."

"Whose?"

"In the hands of someone who possesses the art of turning people into obedient puppets. The Doctor, as he calls himself," Viktor smirked. "But in reality, he's more of a sculptor. He breaks people into pieces and reassembles them however he wants."

Anna took out her notebook and made a note.

"Are you talking about a specific person?"

"About Doctor Berkut. Alexander Viktorovich. A psychiatrist, specialist in child psychology. And a master of reprogramming consciousness," Viktor said this almost with admiration. "He found Igor and me when we were teenagers. Troubled teenagers, as they called us then. And he made us… different."

"Is Sophia with him? Did he take her?"

Viktor nodded.

"She's special. He's been watching her for a long time. Through me, through Igor… We were his eyes. I was supposed to infiltrate her life through her mother. Become a family friend."

"Why? What does Berkut want?"

"He's a collector, detective," Viktor looked her straight in the eyes. "But not in the usual sense. He doesn't collect things. He collects personalities. Souls. And each such soul is marked with its own elephant."

"The elephants of different colors… do they mean something?"

"Everything means something," Viktor leaned back in his chair. "White ones are for those who have found eternal peace. Blue ones are for those who are still waiting their turn. Green ones are for those preparing for transformation. Red ones…"

He fell silent, turning away. Something flashed in his eyes—fear? regret?

"What do the red elephants signify?" Anna asked insistently.

"Red ones are for those who have already become part of the collection. Who have gone through the entire transformation process. Like me. Like Igor," he raised his eyes. "But soon there will be more of them. Many more."

"Where is Berkut keeping Sophia?"

Viktor shook his head.

"I don't know exactly. He never reveals all his cards. But he has several places for… processing. Special places where he conducts his experiments. One of them is the basement in his country house. Another is a former sanatorium somewhere in the forest. He called it his 'laboratory.'"

"Do you know the address?"

"No. They took me there blindfolded. But I remember that the journey took about two hours."

Anna made another note in her notebook, then looked up at Viktor.

"Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

Viktor smiled—a sad, almost human smile.

"Because something went wrong. Here," he tapped his temple with his finger. "His control isn't absolute. Sometimes… sometimes glimpses of my real self break through the programming. And in those moments, I hate what he's made me into."

"You said you went through this transformation… What did Berkut do to you?"

"First—drugs. Special injections that make the mind pliable, like clay. Then—sessions of suggestion. For hours, days. A voice in the darkness telling you who you are, who you should be. And gradually… you start to believe it. The old personality is erased, a new one is written over it. Like on magnetic tape."

"And this is irreversible?"

"Almost," Viktor smirked again. "But sometimes the tape wears out. There are… interferences."

Anna gathered her papers, preparing to leave.

"If you remember anything else—an address, names of Berkut's accomplices, other details—report it immediately."

Viktor nodded. When Anna was already at the door, he called out to her:

"Detective! Be careful. He's not just a criminal. He's… a creator of monsters."

Leaving the detention center, Anna immediately called Dorokhov.

"I need everything available on Doctor Alexander Viktorovich Berkut. And check all psychological centers and clinics in the city, especially those working with children and teenagers."

"Already on it," Dorokhov's voice sounded excited. "We have something interesting. A psychological center called 'New Life,' very prestigious. And guess who runs it?"

"Berkut," Anna was already getting into her car. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Gather everything you can find: the center's history, list of employees, patients. And check if Sophia Velichko was ever their client."

"Already checking. But there's something else—a woman came to us. Says she has information on the case. Claims she knows Viktor Rogov and Igor Sokolov. Or rather, Igor Vasilyev, as he was previously called."

Anna froze with the ignition key in her hand.

"Who is she?"

"Klavdia Mikhailovna Petrova. A former music teacher from Tver. You need to hear this, Anna."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

In the rearview mirror, the detention center flashed by—a gray building, behind whose walls she had left a man who was simultaneously a criminal and a victim. A monster and a puppet.

And somewhere in the city, in an unknown location, Doctor Alexander Berkut was preparing to turn Sophia Velichko into the same kind of puppet. And the time to save her was running out.

Chapter 8: Mosaic of Consciousness

The police headquarters greeted Anna with the muffled hum of voices and ringing phones. Dorokhov intercepted her in the corridor.

"Klavdia Mikhailovna is waiting for you in the third office. Meanwhile, I've prepared information on the 'New Life' center," he handed her a folder. "Everything we could find."

"I'll speak with the woman first," Anna nodded, taking the folder. "Then we'll look into the center together."

In the interrogation room sat a middle-aged woman with a tired face and wary eyes. When Anna entered, she stood up, nervously clutching a worn bag.

"Hello. I'm Klavdia Mikhailovna Petrova."

"Anna Sviridova, investigating officer in Sophia Velichko's case," Anna shook her hand. "My colleague said you knew Igor Sokolov and Viktor Rogov?"

"Yes. Except back then, Igor was called Vasilyev. Igor Vasilyev. I worked with them at the music school in Tver twenty years ago. I taught violin," she paused. "When I saw the news about the missing girl and Sokolov's photograph… I realized everything was happening again."

"Tell me from the beginning," Anna took out her notebook.

Klavdia Mikhailovna took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"Tver, 2004. Glinka Music School. I had been working there for several years when new teachers appeared. Viktor Rogov—piano class, Igor Vasilyev—physical education and choreography. Both young, talented. The children adored them."

"And what happened?"

"At first, nothing special. Regular work, concerts, lessons. But then a new school psychologist appeared—Doctor Alexander Berkut," Klavdia Mikhailovna swallowed nervously. "He very quickly became close with Viktor and Igor. They often stayed after classes, talking about something. Sometimes until late at night."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Not intentionally. I just sometimes stayed late, preparing students for competitions. And I began to notice… oddities."

"What kind specifically?"

"Berkut conducted some kind of experimental sessions with troubled teenagers. He called it 'breakthrough therapy.' Many parents noted positive changes—children became calmer, more obedient. But I saw something else too."

"What exactly?"

"Emptiness. In their eyes, in their gestures. As if something important disappeared from them," Klavdia Mikhailovna took a tattered notebook from her bag. "I began recording my observations. Here."

Anna took the notebook, flipping through the yellowed pages with neat, small handwriting. Dates, names, observations.

"This entry here," Klavdia Mikhailovna pointed to one of the pages.

"Today I saw the elephants in B's office again. White, blue, green, red, yellow, purple, orange. He said each color has its meaning. White ones for those who have found peace. Blue ones for those who are still waiting. Green ones for those who are preparing. Red ones…"

"The next page is torn out," Anna noticed.

"Yes. Berkut found out about my notes. He came to my home supposedly for a visit. Said I had an anxiety disorder. That I was seeing conspiracies. He spoke so convincingly… and prescribed me pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"I don't know exactly. Small, white ones. After taking them, I felt detached. I'd get confused about the days of the week, forget details. And one day… I discovered that pages from my notebook had disappeared."

"And then Katya Voronova went missing," Anna was stating rather than asking.

"Yes. She was Viktor's student. A talented girl. Fifteen years old. Disappeared on her way from music school. Viktor was arrested a week later," Klavdia Mikhailovna pressed her hand to her lips. "And Berkut just… vanished. In a single day. Didn't show up for work, emptied his apartment overnight. And Igor Vasilyev disappeared too."

"Did you tell the police about this?"

"I tried. But I was already taking Berkut's pills. They considered me… unstable. They decided I was upset about what happened and was inventing conspiracies."

Anna made several notes in her notebook, then looked at the woman.

"And now Berkut is here. And he's hunting again."

"Yes. I saw his photograph in the news about the 'New Life' center. He's hardly changed. And when I read about the missing girl, about suspicions against a physical education teacher… I realized it was him again. His signature."

Anna opened the folder Dorokhov had brought. On the first page—an official photograph: a distinguished man with gray temples and a penetrating gaze. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut, director of the psychological center "New Life."

"Is this him?"

Klavdia Mikhailovna paled.

"Yes. He's aged, but… it's definitely him."

"Thank you, Klavdia Mikhailovna. Your information is very important for the investigation. I need you to officially give a statement. And possibly an identification may be required."

"I'm ready to help. In any way I can. Just find that girl."

After the woman left, accompanied by an officer to give her statement, Dorokhov returned to the office.

"What do you think?" he asked, pouring coffee.

"I think we're dealing with something much more complex than an ordinary kidnapping," Anna browsed through the folder with information about the "New Life" center. "The psychological center opened fifteen years ago. Founder and director—Doctor Alexander Berkut. Brilliant reputation, scientific publications, grateful letters from parents… And all this time, he was possibly experimenting on children?"

"Sounds insane," Dorokhov shook his head. "But the evidence speaks for itself. Sokolov, formerly Vasilyev, worked with Berkut in Tver. Then Berkut disappears, Vasilyev too. And both reappear here, only under different names."

"And Viktor Rogov takes the blame for murder and serves his time," Anna continued. "Only to get out and rejoin the game. But what game is this? Why all of this?"

"Maybe it has to do with these consciousness experiments? With what Berkut does to children?"

Anna closed the folder and stood up.

"We need to check out the 'New Life' center. I'm going there now. And you…" she looked at Dorokhov. "Find out if Sophia Velichko was a patient at the center. And check who else involved in the case might be connected to Berkut."

"Already working on it," Dorokhov nodded. "And one more thing. We checked those three names from Sokolov's register marked with red dots. All three girls are patients at the 'New Life' center. Coincidence?"

"I no longer believe in coincidences," Anna headed for the door. "Keep me updated."

Sophia sat on the bed, hugging her knees, watching the door. Several hours had passed since Doctor Berkut left. During this time, she'd been brought food—simple but filling. It was brought by a young woman with an empty gaze and mechanical movements. She didn't answer any questions, just set down the tray and left.

The green elephant stood on the small table. Sophia glanced at it from time to time, as if expecting the figurine to come alive and offer advice. "Don't trust. Run. K."—who had left this message? And how could one escape from a room with a barred window and locked door?

Suddenly the door opened. Doctor Berkut stood in the doorway, with two men in white coats behind him.

"It's time to begin, Sophia," Berkut's voice sounded almost ceremonial. "The first session."

"What kind of session?" she instinctively backed up against the wall.

"Therapeutic," the doctor smiled. "Don't be afraid. It's not painful, quite the opposite."

The men approached the bed. One held a small case, the other—a syringe with clear liquid.

"No!" Sophia jumped up from the bed, trying to move away. "I don't want any injections!"

"Oh, my dear," Berkut shook his head. "This isn't an ordinary injection. This is a key. A key to the door between worlds."

Sophia tried to resist, but the forces were too unequal. In a minute, she felt an injection in her arm and warmth spreading through her body. Her consciousness blurred, the room began to spin, and the last thing she remembered before plunging into darkness was Berkut's face leaning over her and his whisper: "Welcome to our collection, number seven."

The "New Life" center occupied two floors in a modern office building in a prestigious district of the city. Stylish interior, friendly staff, an atmosphere of calm and well-being. Nothing hinted at the dark secrets that might be hiding behind the glossy facade.

"Doctor Berkut is busy with a patient," informed the administrator, a nice young woman with a perfect smile. "But if you'd like to schedule a consultation…"

"This is an official visit," Anna showed her badge. "I'll wait until he's free."

The girl's smile became strained.

"I understand. Please have a seat. I'll let Doctor Berkut know you're here."

Anna looked around. Several people sat in the waiting area: a mother with a child about ten years old, an elderly woman, a young man immersed in reading a book. On the walls—diplomas, certificates, thank-you letters. And photographs: Doctor Berkut with famous people, Doctor Berkut at scientific conferences, Doctor Berkut with groups of children of various ages.

The door of one of the offices opened, and a woman with a teenage girl emerged. Anna froze. Something in the girl's face seemed familiar. Blonde hair, serious eyes… The woman walked past, but Anna managed to notice a medical chart in her hands. On the cover—a colored sticker. A small blue circle.

A man came out of the office after them. The very same one from the photographs. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut.

"Doctor Berkut," Anna rose from her chair.

"Ah, Detective Sviridova," he smiled, extending his hand. "Maria told me you wanted to see me. Has something happened?"

His handshake was firm, his gaze open and friendly. Nothing about him suggested a person capable of the crimes Viktor and Klavdia Mikhailovna had spoken of.

"Investigation into the case of the missing girl. Sophia Velichko."

"Ah yes, I heard. A terrible story. Please, come into my office, let's talk."

Doctor Berkut's office looked exactly as a successful psychiatrist's office should: comfortable furniture, subdued lighting, bookshelves, diplomas on the walls. And not a single elephant.

"How can I help you?" Berkut sat at his desk, gesturing for Anna to take the chair opposite.

"We're establishing the circle of the missing girl's contacts. Was Sophia ever your patient?"

"No, never. I would remember that name."

"And her mother, Elena Andreevna?"

Berkut thought for a moment.

"Possibly. We have many clients. I can check the database if it's important for the investigation."

"Very important. And one more thing," Anna tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "Have you ever worked in Tver? At a music school?"

For a fraction of a second, Berkut's gaze changed. Something flashed in his eyes—wariness? Concern? But it immediately disappeared.

"Yes, I did. Early in my career. Tver is my hometown," he leaned back in his chair. "But that was a very long time ago. What does this have to do with your investigation?"

"Just clarifying details. Do you happen to remember a piano teacher named Viktor Rogov? Or Igor Vasilyev, a physical education instructor?"