The girl walked slowly along the path of the Moscow park, strewn with yellow September leaves. She smiled as she looked at them, at the pond, illuminated by the still warm sun, at the ducks that had not yet flown away, and at the white clouds floating in the sky. She looked around every now and then, as if she wanted to take in the whole world with one glance. Still smiling, the girl put her hand to her breast and slowed her step. "Here we go again," she found it a little hard to breathe, "but that's okay, it'll let up now. Her eyes darkened for a moment, but very soon it was easier to breathe. "Well, that's good. We should sit and rest." The girl found with her eyes the nearest bench in the alley of the park and was on her way to it, when suddenly she stopped, stood for a moment, then swayed and fell on the path strewn with maple leaves. An elderly woman with a shopping bag filled with simple purchases ran up to the fallen woman, bent over her and shouted:
- Call an ambulance! The girl's sick! Call an ambulance!
People began to gather, pulling out cell phones, dialing "103" in a hurry, someone turned the girl over on her back, putting her jacket under her head and trying to feel for a pulse. They unzipped her cheap pale pink windbreaker to make it easier for her to breathe, but no one realized if her chest was rising, if her heart was beating. The girl lay silent and motionless. A middle-aged man in a gray raincoat called the police at the same time, without knowing why. The emotions of a crowd are always stronger than those of a single person, and the screams of the old woman, the girl lying on the path of the park, who was too young for any serious misfortune, greatly agitated the people gathered around. An ambulance arrived, followed immediately by the police, and the girl was examined and found to be in cardiac arrest. The motionless body was put on a stretcher, loaded into the car, the policeman talked about something with the ambulance doctor, scribbled a couple of lines in his notebook, the doctor got into the car and it sped away. The quiet crowd heard the words of the officer addressing his partner in the Skoda:
- To the First Central Hospital, to the cardiology department... She has no documents, let's go there first, then we'll find out...
***
A police officer in his forties entered the Accident Registration Bureau of the Central District of Moscow, went up to the second floor, walked down the corridor and knocked on one of the offices. At the answer "Come in!" he opened the door and went inside.
- Captain Rubtsov," he saluted and closed the door behind him. - May I, Comrade Major?
Major Pivovarov, who was sitting at the table, rose to meet him, extended his hand and said good-naturedly:
- Have a seat, Captain.
Rubtsov shook the major's hand and sat down in the chair opposite the desk.
- The case of the dead girl was sent to you. I brought the report drawn up at the scene of the accident and the results of the investigation, and the medical report should have been sent to you from the hospital.
- Yeah, yeah, we got it all. Report, Captain.
- Zvonareva Kristina Gennadyevna, born in 2002," Rubtsov began, occasionally checking the papers he had brought to Major Pivovarov, "was brought up in an orphanage, where she came when she was five years old after her parents died in a car accident. At the orphanage she was diagnosed with a heart defect. The head of the orphanage, with whom I spoke, said that it was unknown whether the defect was congenital, as the girl did not suffer much, and they limited themselves to annual check-ups and light supportive therapy.
- But Zvonareva died of cardiac arrest, as it became known from the autopsy report, - said the major.
- True enough, as the girl grew older, she felt worse and worse, and when she reached adulthood and got a room in the dormitory of the garment factory where she got a job, she began to suffer frequent heart attacks. Having undergone an examination at the factory's polyclinic, Christina learned her verdict: she urgently needed an expensive operation, without it doctors did not guarantee that she would live more than a year. The girl, of course, had no money, she had no close relatives, and there was no point in contacting distant relatives: their family had always been poor, and no one had ever visited Kristina in the orphanage, and she did not remember anyone in Moscow or beyond.
- So the girl was just allowed to die?
- I found the head of the orphanage to be a kind-hearted woman," Rubtsov continued, "she kept in touch with many of her graduates. She often suggested to Kristina that she try to contact various services, charities, social services, etc., but she always refused. And that's how it ended. But the most interesting thing, Comrade Major, I found out when I examined her room in the dormitory. I found Christina's will there.
- A will?! What was she supposed to bequeath if she didn't have much money?
- I spoke to the head of the orphanage again, and she told me the story of Christina's parents' death. They were on their way to the kindergarten to pick up their daughter when a truck hit their car at a crossroads. The girl's father died on the spot, and her mother was taken to the hospital with severe injuries. She needed an urgent liver transplant, and the organ had already been found, but it was not delivered in time: the woman died without regaining consciousness. After growing up, Christina asked the head of the orphanage to help her donate her organs to the donor bank, except for her heart, of course. The medical report attached to the will stated that her illness should not be a major obstacle to donation. Here's her will," Rubtsov put the last sheet of paper in front of the major.
- Poor girl," Pivovarov said thoughtfully, "knowing that she was going to die, and having lost her mother for lack of the necessary organ in the nearest availability, she decided to sacrifice the only thing she possessed and that belonged to her by right.
They were silent for a moment, then the major said:
- Thank you, Captain. We'll close the case for lack of evidence of violent death. Kristina Zvonareva's body will be taken care of by the clinic, which will contact the organ donor bank and perform all the necessary procedures. You can be free to go, and thank you for your work.
Rubtsov left the folder with the documents to Pivovarov, stood up, saluted and left the major's office.
***
Natasha Solovyova returned late from the institute. After a sunny day, a nasty rain drizzled in the evening, and it was already dark. "Damn her, that physicist," the girl thought in despair. She knew why she disliked her. The physicist was young, she had recently graduated from the institute and stayed on to work at the department. They were alike in some ways: both of them were tall, slender blondes, but Natasha was the prettiest girl in the faculty, and the physicist had a crooked nose and too thin lips. At every test she hounded Natasha on all the questions so that the girl went home like a squeezed lemon. And today she lost her umbrella at the institute. She walked back along the dark embankment, tired, hungry and wet.
- Hey, girl! - Natasha heard a voice behind her, drunk and reckless. - Where are you going in such a hurry?
"Just what I need right now!" - she thought and quickened her step. Maybe she shouldn't have, because three guys immediately overtook her and drew up in front of her, exchanging dirty jokes. When Natasha backed up, one of them grabbed her arm. The girl tried to break free, but she did not succeed. The other two, behind their comrade's back, were teasing and encouraging him, laughing and shouting. Natasha made one more desperate attempt to wrench her arm away, for which she swung her purse and brought the full force of the blow down on the shoulder of the guy who was holding her. He loosened his grip from surprise, and the girl was about to break free, but his friend pushed her with words:
- You goat, you've got some nerve!
Natasha fell down. At first she didn't realize what had happened. When she felt a strong blow from behind, she thought that the third guy had hit her on the back of the head with something. A moment later she found herself lying in a very uncomfortable and unnatural position, like a broken doll, unable to move. She was not in pain, but her whole body felt as if paralyzed, bound in an iron vise. Natasha felt something very hot running down her neck, then the warmth spread throughout her body, and it went slack, the iron vise released, and she felt indifferent. She felt the cold drops of rain on her face for a while, and then the coldness receded, and her eyes stopped seeing the flicker of pale and blurred frightened faces, and there was complete darkness.
- Let's go, guys! - Natasha didn't hear those words anymore. - It seems that the goat is dead... dead...
***
There were two people in the deserted hospital corridor. A woman in her fifties was crying quietly, sitting on one of a long row of chairs. A man a little older than her stood beside her and stroked her shoulder. There was such pain in the man's eyes that the nurse on duty, sitting at the far end of the corridor, barely glanced at the silent couple and looked away in embarrassment and sympathy. The two had come running half an hour ago, around midnight, frightened and trembling, not immediately finding the words to ask if they could wait outside the operating room for their daughter, who had been brought in in critical condition late that night. The girl was found on the embankment by a young couple in a pool of blood and called an ambulance. Luckily for her, Ershov himself was on duty that night, and it was said that it was hard to find a better neurosurgeon than him, not only in Moscow, but in the whole of Russia.
- Lena, Lena," the man shook his wife's shoulder, and she hurriedly raised her head. A short, gray-haired man in a green overalls came out of the operating room, tiredly removing the surgical mask from his face. After four and a half hours of waiting, and because of the excitement and grief, the woman's legs did not obey. She swayed, but her husband supported her, and together they rushed towards the surgeon. With the professional gesture of a doctor accustomed to talking to grief-stricken relatives of his patients, he shook hands with the girl's parents just below the elbow and, without waiting for their incoherent questions, spoke first:
- Your daughter was brought in in a very serious condition with a severe head injury sustained when she hit the stone parapet on the embankment where she was found. I'm afraid my prognosis for her condition is very poor. All my attempts to save her brain have failed. She slipped into a coma during surgery, and that's the only thing that saved her from death. She has a strong heart, she may live a while longer on the artificial lung system, but... her brain is dead... I'm so sorry....
With each word of the surgeon, it was as if the remnants of life were leaving Natasha's father's eyes, and her mother sank more into her husband's arms, until finally, sobbing, she sank back into the chair, finally exhausted.
- What do we do now, doctor? - was all the poor father could whisper.
Ershov seemed to hesitate, picking up words, then said slowly, taking long pauses between phrases:
- Nowhere and never have brain transplant operations been performed. But I have personally studied extensively the intricacies, expected results and expected complications of such an intervention. If such operations were possible, their cost would be affordable for perhaps only a few people living on Earth. My experiments are well-funded, but I have not yet performed any surgery on humans. I can get permission for such an experiment. Naturally, it would be at no cost to you, and I would formalize the operation as part of a test project.
The woman crying in the chair raised her head and asked her husband in a weak voice:
- Borya, what's he saying?
- He said he needed another operation," he said to his wife, and turning to the surgeon, he asked, also having a poor understanding of what he was talking about: "What is needed for that, doctor?
- We need a donor brain.
- Where do we get it?
- You can't take it. It's just a matter of luck. Since such surgeries are not performed, there are no waiting lists for brain transplants in the organ donor database. Those organs, if they are stored there, are used solely for experimentation. We have to wait for a brand-new brain that's just entered the database and is a match for your daughter. And I can tell you, our chances are slim to none.
- How long do we have to wait for that brain, Doctor?
Ershov, realizing that from grief and despair the girl's parents were now thinking badly, simply said:
- Here's what we're gonna do. You will sign the necessary documents confirming your consent to the transplant, and I will let you know when a donor brain is available.
- What did he say, Borya? - The mother of the injured girl raised her tearful eyes to her husband again.
- The doctor will call us and tell us when we need to do Natasha's second surgery.
***
The bell in the Solovyovs' apartment rang in the late morning. Natasha's father, tired from a sleepless night, came to the phone.
- I'm listening.
- Boris Mikhailovich, hello, this is Dr. Ershov. I have good news for you. We found a donor brain for your daughter. Yesterday, a young girl, the same age as Natasha, who bequeathed her organs for donation, died. We have to hurry, we're running out of hours. Can you come to the clinic right away to sign the necessary documents?
- Yes, yes, of course," said a confused Boris Mikhailovich, running haphazardly around the room with the telephone in his hand. Then he pulled himself together and shouted to his wife: - Lena, get ready, we must go to the clinic! Natasha needs another urgent operation!
The two anxious but hopeful parents sat in the same chairs as the night before. The hospital corridor was no longer empty and quiet; it was filled with the sounds of carts, gurneys, and the footsteps of nurses and doctors passing by. Natasha's parents were silent, neither of them daring to speak, immersed in their own thoughts, fears and hopes. They sat like that all day, occasionally getting up to drink coffee from the machine. They couldn't eat. It was only in the evening that Ershov, who could barely stand on his feet, came out of the operating room and went to the place where the two excited people were sitting, who immediately jumped to their feet at his appearance.
- The operation was a success," the surgeon could only utter.
- Doctor," Boris Mikhailovich rejoiced, "can we see her?
Ershov realized that the long-awaited rest would have to be postponed for a few more minutes.
- Boris Mikhailovich," he began to explain, "I performed an operation on your daughter that no one has ever performed on anyone before. She is still in a coma, and it is extremely dangerous to bring her out of it now. Whether it will be done in a day, a week, or a month, I can't tell you right now. Today you can only see her from a distance, through that window over there, when she is moved from the operating room to the ward. - The surgeon shook both of Natasha's parents' hands again, just below the elbow: "Please be patient. - He walked away down the corridor with a somewhat unsteady gait due to fatigue.
***
The world was unnaturally white. The door, the walls, the ceiling-it didn't surprise the girl lying on the bed-but the light pouring in the window, the piece of sky peeking out from behind the white curtain, and even the faces that occasionally flashed before her eyes were white. She did not know whether it was a minute or an eternity, but gradually the sky turned blue and the objects around her became blurred. One day, when she opened her eyes, she found that there were only two faces in front of her, and they were no longer flashing, but smiling at her.
- Daughter," a pleasant woman with blonde hair said softly, "my sweet daughter, you are finally awake.
- Can you hear me, my girl? - said a middle-aged man in a gray sweater sitting next to the woman. - How are you feeling?
The girl tried to part her lips to ask them who they were, but she couldn't do it. Suddenly she wished desperately that they were her mom and dad, because she didn't remember them, but these people looked so kind and there was so much love in their looks, and she had missed their love for many, many years! So she gathered all her strength, swallowed hard and whispered:
- Mom.
The woman cried, took her hand and began to kiss it, the man's chin also shook, but he restrained himself, and, trying his best to smile, began to gently stroke the blanket that covered the girl's breasts.
- She recognized you, Lena!" he repeated joyfully. - She recognized you! And I'm your daddy! Do you recognize me? I'm your daddy.
The girl sighed in relief. Good, that's exactly what she wished for. It may be a dream, but still she sees them. She whispered happily: "Daddy..." and fell asleep. When she woke up, Mommy and Daddy were here again, beside her. "It doesn't work like that," the girl thought, "after you wake up, the dream must end. Just then she saw another man who seemed familiar. He was wearing a green jumpsuit and was smiling too. Ah, yes, she had seen his face more than once in that white flicker. Now that face, too, had taken on color. The man sat down on the edge of her bed and spoke affectionately:
- So, how's my favorite patient doing? Let's have a little chat, beautiful stranger. What's your name?
The girl didn't know her name, but for some reason she answered, almost without thinking:
- Christina.
The four people in the hospital room at that moment had very different feelings on their faces. The woman with blond hair widened her eyes fearfully and looked at her husband. The man looked a little embarrassed, stopped stroking his daughter's blanket, and looked questioningly at the man in the green jumpsuit. The doctor bit his lips a little, looking thoughtfully at his patient, then patted the man in the gray sweater reassuringly on the shoulder. The girl lying on the bed shifted her eyes from one face to the other in surprise. Where had that name come from? She didn't remember it, yet her lips said it on their own. Why were mommy and daddy scared? She wanted to wake up, but she was afraid: then Mommy and Daddy would disappear and she would never see them again. Natasha fell asleep again.
In Dr. Ershov's office, the girl's parents listened anxiously to the surgeon's explanation:
- Boris Mikhailovich, Elena Nikolayevna, the capabilities of the human brain are still only 1% understood. I mean, we only know how to use it for so little. The operation I performed on your daughter was experimental, I made you aware of it, and you signed your consent. But without the surgery, your daughter would have died. I still cannot guarantee you 100% that what we are seeing now is a complete success. I want you to be prepared for anything, even rejection.
- We understand doctor, - said Boris Mikhailovich, and Elena Nikolaevna only nodded silently, afraid to cry. - But why does she call herself Christina?
- Please be patient with her. Talk to her more, talk to her about her past, reminisce together about people she knew, places you have been together.
- Doctor," the girl's mother, having managed herself, cautiously asked, "whose brain is Natasha's?
- I can't tell you that. Because I don't know. And no one will tell you because it's forbidden by the donor confidentiality. All I was told was that the dead girl left her organs.
***
When Natasha woke up, there was no one in her room. "There, I knew it was a dream," she thought. - But still, I'm so glad I dreamed about Mom and Dad. Just then the door opened and they walked in.
- Natasha, are you awake? - Mom immediately rushed to her bedside and took her hand affectionately. - How are you feeling?
- Mom..." the surprised girl said. It was hard for her to speak, but not because her tongue was not listening. Natasha felt as if someone was prompting her to say the words, and she pronounced them following the prompts. - I thought I was dreaming about you.
- No, darling, you didn't dream about us," Boris wanted to stroke his daughter's head, but she was completely covered with bandages and he was afraid of hurting her, so he stroked the blanket again and then took Natasha's other hand. - We've always been here with you. And we'll always be here for you, we're not going anywhere.
- But aren't you dead?
Elena Nikolayevna turned pale and almost cried again. She looked at her husband with eyes widened with horror. Boris Mikhailovich also turned pale, but he controlled himself and nodded gently to his wife: "Remember what the doctor said? He did not show his daughter that he was frightened and confused, so he said:
- No, Natasha, come on... We've always been your mom and dad. Remember? We all lived together. And very soon you'll get well, we'll come home and live together again.
- In the dorm?
The parents looked at each other again, but they seemed to be getting used to their daughter's strange questions, and the doctor's warnings had done their job, so there was less fear in their looks.
- No, Natasha, we live on Vernadsky Avenue, very soon you'll be back in our apartment, you'll see your room again," Boris tried his best to speak in an even and soothing voice. Then an idea suddenly occurred to him, and he asked his daughter: "Natasha, what do you remember from earlier?
Now it was Natasha's turn to be frightened, because the memories were very disturbing to her. She had the feeling that it was not her memory; she remembered things she had never known, and what she knew she could not recall. Elena Nikolayevna looked at her husband reproachfully, saying that they had pulled your tongue, but then Natasha spoke slowly and uncertainly:
- I remember a girl... Christina. She lived alone. One day she was walking in the park and suddenly she fell. I saw her from somewhere above, because I...flew up above the trees. Christine was lying on the park path, on the yellow leaves, and people started to gather around her. Then I flew higher and higher, and then... I don't remember anything. I remember only white light. - Natasha looked at her parents: "And I remember you young. I was very young then. - The girl cried. - Then you died... mom... dad...
- Well, well, Natasha," Elena Nikolaevna began to comfort her daughter, "calm down, my dear, everything is all right. You've just lost your memory, but you'll soon recover - that's what the doctor says," Natasha's mother lied to her.
- Mom," the girl asked cautiously, "what happened to me? Why am I here? And who is Christina?
In his office, Dr. Ershov, frowning and nodding his head, listened very carefully to the confusing story of Natasha's parents. Barely holding back tears, Elena Nikolayevna asked:
- Doctor, should we tell her the truth? Should she know that she had another girl's brain transplant? And--and--and--
- And could these memories have anything to do with that girl's life? - Boris Mikhailovich came to his wife's rescue.
- You want a lot from me," the surgeon replied. - For a first-time operation, the answers to these questions are too premature. I would like to ask your permission to continue to observe Natasha after she is discharged. It's the only way we'll be able to understand anything. One thing I can tell you right now is that I think the crisis has passed and your daughter is on the mend. As soon as I'm satisfied with the results of all her tests, I can talk about letting her go home. Under your strictest supervision, of course, with regular visits to the clinic to monitor her condition. And the truth... of course, she has the right to know it... but only after she has fully recovered.
***
Natasha entered the room, which at first seemed completely unfamiliar to her. She was afraid to touch things she did not consider her own. Moreover, they seemed too expensive compared to the things she was used to (used to?... what a strange word) owning. She had never owned such a cell phone, such beautiful clothes, or such exquisite purses and jewelry. Nevertheless, to her surprise, Natasha's hands took the phone in a familiar gesture, her fingers sliding over the display, opening unread messages, unanswered calls, social networks and applications. Who were all these people who were texting her, asking about her health, wishing her to get well soon and asking to meet her? And Christina? Natasha ran her eyes over the names and phone numbers. There was no Christina here. Who is she? Where is Christina? She had to figure this out or she would go crazy.
- Mom, can I ask you a question? - Elena Nikolayevna, who was setting the table, readily left her dishes and smilingly walked toward her daughter, who had entered the kitchen.
- Of course, Natasha. - The doctor told them to remember more of their former life and to tell her everything she tried to remember. - What did you want to ask, dear?
- Did you and dad know all my friends?
- Yeah, well, yeah. Your girlfriends used to come over and talk to you a lot, and sometimes they'd stay for lunch.
- Was Christina my friend? - Natasha asked hopefully. - Mom, who is Christina? Where is she?
Elena Nikolayevna was confused. Her husband had gone out to buy bread, and without him she did not want to begin this difficult conversation, which they had put off for so long. But her daughter looked at her with such a pleading look that she made up her mind.
- Sit down, sweetheart. - Natasha sank into the chair next to her mother at the kitchen table. - Do you remember what happened to you before you went to the hospital?
- No, Mom. You and dad told me I was seriously ill. What kind of sick?
Elena Nikolayevna took her daughter's hand affectionately.
- Natasha, you were attacked by hooligans," she began, choosing her words carefully, "and you were... badly hurt. You fell and hit your head. Your brain was damaged, and you had to have... surgery. You... had another brain transplant.
The horror in the girl's eyes frightened her mother, and she once again wished her husband were there. What if Natasha became ill? The doctor had strictly instructed them to bring her to the clinic at the first suspicion of deterioration, and Elena Nikolaevna had already reached for the phone to dial Ershov's number, but then the girl seemed to control herself and asked:
- Mom, did it happen in the park? I remember falling on the yellow leaves... or was it Christina?
- No, Natasha, it happened on the waterfront.
Natasha thought for a moment.
- Then what happened in the park, Mom?
- But I don't know about any park, honey. Maybe you remember going there with your girlfriends. The doctor said the memories may come back gradually. Just be patient, my dear, you'll see, you'll remember everything.
Natasha realized that her mother could hardly help her, so she decided not to ask any more questions. She had to figure it out for herself. She felt that what she remembered was her real life. No, Natasha was very glad that she had her parents again, whom she missed so much. She loved them very much... or was it Christina who loved them? Or someone else, who was she now? Natasha was completely confused.
- Mom, can I go for a walk this afternoon? - she asked her mother.
Elena Nikolayevna looked at her daughter excitedly.
- Natasha, let's go together. When Daddy comes back, we'll have lunch and then we'll go.
- Mom, don't worry, nothing will happen to me, I'll be very careful. - And she quickly found a way to persuade her mother: "After all, the doctor said I should remember more! I'll just wander around the places I know!
***
The girl walked slowly along the path of the Moscow park, strewn with shriveled October leaves. She smiled as she looked at them, at the pond illuminated by the still-warm sun, at the ducks gliding along the pond that had not yet flown away, and at the white clouds floating in the sky. When had she seen all this? This bench, it was so familiar! On the bench sat an elderly woman with a shopping bag filled with purchases. She recognized that woman! She had seen her from above when Christina fell! The girl took a hesitant step toward the bench and greeted the woman:
- Hello!
- Hello! Do we know each other? - The woman asked.
- You see," the girl began cautiously, "I'm looking for a friend of mine. She had an accident last month. She fell here," she pointed to the path near the bench. - Have you seen her by any chance? Her name is Christina.
The girl noticed the woman's concerned look, and she nodded.
- Of course you do! Of course, of course, I remember her! A lot of people gathered, called the ambulance, the police.
- Do you know where they took her?
- So the morgue, then. I mean, she's dead, poor thing.
- Dead?! - the girl was horrified. - Dead how?!
- You didn't know? Oh, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry about your friend!
Feeling weak, the girl sank down on the bench next to the woman and sat silently for a while, gathering her thoughts. Then a thought apparently occurred to her, and she asked again:
- And the police? You said the police came?
- Yeah, someone called the police just in case. You never knew if it was an accident or murder... They didn't know why she died. They took her away and the coroner went around asking witnesses.
- Do you know what precinct he's from?
- We have a police station over there," the woman waved her hand toward the intersection, "there's a police station around the corner. You go there and ask there.
- Thank you," the girl thanked her and staggered toward the intersection.
At the police station, she asked the officer on duty to see the investigator who had been looking into the death of the girl in the park last month, saying she knew her. The officer showed her where to go, and she turned down a corridor and entered a small room where a man in his forties in a captain's uniform was sitting.
- Hello," she said and hesitated at the door, not knowing where to start.
- Sit down," the captain came to her aid, "what is your business?
- It's about the girl who died in the park. I was told she's dead. Is that true? It happened in September.
The captain looked at the entrant in surprise.
- I'm sorry, who are you to her?
- I'm--I'm her friend.
The captain turned to the cabinet behind him, ran his eyes over the shelves, pulled a skinny folder from one of them, and opened it.
- Okay, Kristina Zvonareva. But this case has long been closed. In fact, there was no need to open it: Zvonareva died of her own death. But since we were called in, we interviewed witnesses. - He turned over a piece of paper. - Ah here, the only reason why we had to continue the investigation: the will of the deceased. But that's a mystery. What's your motive for taking an interest in Zvonareva's death? If you're her friend, you must know why she died.
- You see... - the girl sitting in front of the captain was completely confused and almost crying. - I had an accident that day, too, as a result of which I lost my memory. I suspect it had something to do with what happened to Christina. Can I at least find out what and to whom she bequeathed?
- Well, - the captain felt sorry for the girl, and he agreed: - The case is long closed anyway, the cause of death is natural... She bequeathed her organs. What's the matter with you? Are you all right? - He saw that the girl turned pale and grabbed the edge of the table with her hand. - Can I get you some water?
- No, no, thank you," his visitor whispered. She stood up and staggered toward the exit, as if she could see nothing in front of her. Then she turned and said, "Goodbye.
The captain shrugged and tucked the skinny folder back into the closet.
The girl went outside and crossed the intersection again. She entered the park and walked along the path, where there was no one on the familiar bench. The girl stood by the pond for a while, looking at the ducks that had gathered in a flock, quacking excitedly. Apparently, they were preparing for their flight. Natasha mentally wished them a happy journey, smiled and said:
- Let's go home, Kristina. Our mom and dad are waiting for us for dinner.