“Spirala” by Igor Brejdygant, the author of “Szdzia”, which was even transferred to the screen, is another title appearing in the new series “Znak Crime”. Brejdygant is a specific writer in that he writes with images. One might be tempted to describe him as a film novelist. It is no different in the case of his latest detective story “Spirala”, which has just been published by Znak publishing house. Told in the writer’s characteristic style, the story quickly changes from a racial crime to a suspenseful spy novel – perfect for the screen.
Spiral by Igor Brejdygant. An excerpt from a novel
In the description of “Spirala” we read: “A spark of joy sparked by a forbidden relationship, which she missed for years. That was enough for Dominika Stawecka, the ideal wife of a respected minister, always rational and organized, to break all the rules she had so far followed. Her romance with Aleksandra – although doomed to a tragic end – makes her float above the ground for some time with happiness, she has no idea that she will have to pay the highest price for it.
Soon her husband’s political enemies find out about the betrayal and one by one fate takes away everything that is dear to her. One by one, more people from her closest surroundings die, and Dominika falls into a spiral of more and more severe betrayals, until she finally forgets what fear is. This woman will stop at nothing to save those she loves most.”
Who is Igor Brejdygant?
Igor Brejdygant is a screenwriter, novelist, director, photographer and actor. Author of crime novels: “Paradox”, “Szdź”, “Rysa”, “Układ”, “Wiatr” and “Orphans”. Co-author of a series of stories inspired by true stories “I’ll tell you about the crime”, on the basis of which a television program broadcast by Crime&Investigation Polsat is made. Screenwriter, among others “A Simple Story About Murder”, “Erynia” and “Mother”. Series based on his prose – “Szdź” and “Rysa” – were nominated for the Eagles. For fans of Polish culture, Igor Brejdygant is also known as the half-brother of the singer Krzysztof Zalewski. Below we publish an excerpt from the novel “Spiral”:
Where did it all start, from what, from what moment?
Was it already at this party, or later, when she came to the office, or maybe only after our joint trip to the spa in Warmia? It was hard to say, pinpoint a specific point. Everything today, in retrospect, seemed fluid, indefinite. Anyway, a memory is never pure information, it is always superimposed on it everything that was, what is now and what will be later. And what will happen later?
For now, Dominika, elegant as from a magazine, a minivan with a black and white checkered roof, was driving through the dark and dirty streets of Praga to Ola’s no less elegant and no less fashionable loft just to tell her that it was over. Regardless of the consequences, which can be nightmarish, she was going to finally close this chapter.
She stopped the car at the traffic light at the intersection of Ratuszowa and Inżynierska Streets, lowered the sun visor and looked in the small mirror. Tired as she was, her long face framed by long, blond hair was still attractive in its strangeness. Sharp features and a complexion slightly darker than the median typical of the country in which she grew up made her something different, original. For some, because of it, and for others, despite it, she was a beautiful woman. Although her eyes were now circled with a delicate darkness of insomnia, and the first crow’s feet appeared in their corners, which had not been there a few months ago, all this still seemed to work in her favor.
Elevator, second floor. There was that excitement again, even though today she was going there for a completely different purpose. Well, now she was most afraid of something else. Now her main question was whether, after turning the key in the lock, she would be able to remember why she had come here in the first place. The door swung open, as it always did, with a soft grunt of sucking soft rubber seals. She came in.
– Ola … – she said quietly enough that she heard a gentle smacking of her unglued lips.
Silence.
The cover of the detective story ‘Spiral’ mat. Sign publishing house
Must be some prank again, she thought.
“Ola, I’m here…” she repeated, placing the keys on the dark wood carved chest of drawers by the door.
The sound of metal hitting the polish of the furniture broke the strange silence prevailing here and introduced a slight uneasiness.
Removing the tight calfskin gloves from her slender hands as she went, she walked deeper into the apartment. Will I survive? Will I do what I came here to do? Will it finally stop? Do I even want it? Does it matter what I want right now? The race of thoughts seemed to speed up and then…
The naked body of her beloved woman lay face down on the floor, a puddle of thick dark red liquid spilling out from under it. At first, Dominika thought completely absurdly that she had to pick up Aleksandra, because she would drown in her own blood in a moment. As she leaned forward and, sliding in the greasy red goo, began desperately struggling to turn Ola onto her back, she suddenly realized that she was no longer standing on the edge of the abyss. She is not standing, for she has just begun to fall into its abyss.
– Hello, Hello! she cried, but the rational part of her brain knew perfectly well that no one would hear her cry, and if she did, it would certainly not be the woman lying in front of her.
The entire front of Ola’s torso was covered with blood, as are now Dominika’s hands, skirt, blouse and jacket. There were cuts here and there between her breasts and below, and as she tried desperately to jerk her upward, as if in hopes of restoring movement to what would forever remain immobile, the remnants of life’s accumulated thick brown flesh spilled out. blood.
What to do? What should he do in this situation? She shouldn’t be here at all, not today or ever. This apartment didn’t really exist. None of them lived in it, it was rented out to Ola’s friend, for cash from some strange guy whom Dominika had never seen. This was their tryst house, boudoir, shelter for their secret relationship, which had not been so secret for quite some time now. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but even though she didn’t know much about it, her intuition told her that when the police did finally arrive, they’d be on to her pretty quickly anyway, following the tracks she’d left today and over the last three months of regular visits. And then it will be worse, much worse. So after irrational attempts to bring a dead body back to life, she reached for the phone with her bloody hand and, barely seeing anything through her tears and smudged makeup, dialed 112.
They came quickly. First, some not very bright ones, in oversized and poorly cut navy blue jackets that made them look like Lego men. They told her to go outside, but they didn’t let her go home. Anyway, she had no idea how she would go there anyway. She had absolutely no idea what to do next. She was covered in blood, and in the apartment, now completely alone again, because the policemen also went out to the staircase, Ola was lying. Her Ola – lover, friend, the closest man with whom she was about to part.
After a few minutes of dully staring at the playground outside the window, she heard a man’s low, hoarse voice behind her.
– Miss Dominika Stawecka?
Dominika turned and nodded her head.
This cop wasn’t wearing a navy blue jacket, he didn’t look like a Lego man. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket draped over it loosely.
– Commissioner Paweł Milewski, Department for Combating Criminal Terror and Homicides of the Capital Headquarters. A long-faced, greying, dark-haired man with an untidy, but perhaps even more convincing, stubble flashed a badge.
She looked at the document, but more because she felt it was appropriate than because she needed any confirmation at the moment.
“You found the body?” he asked, looking at her warily.
– Yes … I came … We had an appointment … – Dominika had the impression that words were coming out of her throat, tight with despair and terror, like pieces of plasticine.
“And how did you get into the apartment?” I mean, since the deceased couldn’t open it? he asked, and she thought a faint smile crossed his face.
But what kind of smile was it? Indulgent? Ironic? Pinching? Or maybe she just saw the ordinary, warm smile of a man who saw how terrible her condition was and wanted to help her somehow?
“I had the keys,” she replied firmly. She knew, of course, that this answer generated an infinite number of questions that would bubble one after the other until they finally drove her against the wall. What will he do then? She didn’t know that.
“Go home, please.” If necessary, one of the colleagues will drive you. We’ll contact you later, and until then, please don’t leave town. He wasn’t smiling now, but she still felt he wasn’t her enemy, at least for now.
The cover of the book ‘Spiral’ mat. Sign publishing house
Source: Gazeta
Bruce is a talented author and journalist with a passion for entertainment . He currently works as a writer at the 247 News Agency, where he has established himself as a respected voice in the industry.
