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