Stolen Souls

75

GALYA WOKE FROM a dense and dreamless sleep and wondered for a few seconds where she was. The memory of where she had been came first, crushing the air from her lungs, followed by the realization that she was safe.

She lay still for a time, trying not to think about anything but the long bath she had taken before she had come in here to sleep. She had lain in the water for almost an hour, her bandaged feet wrapped in plastic bags and propped on the rim. Songs had come to her mind, songs from her childhood that she’d sung with her friends. She had hummed them to herself, listening to her voice resonate between the tiled walls.

How long had she been asleep? It seemed as if she had closed her eyes only moments ago, burrowing into the warmth of Susan’s bed, but when she opened them the light had changed. She listened to the activity beyond the bedroom door. The two girls laughed in unison. Dishes and pots clanked and clattered. The woman, Susan, cooking. She seemed like a good person, but tired, as if something pained her from within. Galya imagined some of that pain was the fault of Lennon, the police officer who had brought her here.

He was a curious man. A decent man, Galya thought. She wondered if he brought her to this woman’s home, instead of putting her in a cell, as some way of trying to prove his own value to himself. He smiled sometimes, and laughed, and talked, but now and then his thoughts would be elsewhere, his eyes vacant.

Did Galya trust him? She wasn’t sure yet, but Susan clearly did, and that would have to do.

She pushed the quilt back and sat up, lowering her feet to the floor as softly as she could. Her soles burned on contact, even with the dressings to shield them. The pain crept up through her ankles and into her calves. Aches and stings nagged at every part of her body.

The clean clothes had been left in a small pile next to the bed. Her own had been taken by the police. Evidence, they had said.

The kind woman who spoke to Galya in the hospital had told her she had nothing to fear from the police. The killing was clearly self-defense, she had said, they would understand that. The man who died had been a criminal. The police would not mourn his passing.

But still, there were procedures, questions to answer. Courtrooms and lawyers. Months in this city, no prospect of going home.

Galya felt tears returning, but she fought them back. She would have no more of that. Not now. There would be plenty of time to weep in the days and weeks ahead.

She dressed in the jeans and T-shirt, both too big for her small shoulders and hips, and leaned on the wall as she eased her feet into the slippers. They provided a little cushioning for her feet as she walked to the door and opened it.

Galya stood for a few seconds, watching. From here she could see through the short hallway to the living room where the girls continued to play beneath the tree. The policeman talked on his mobile phone while Susan arranged plates and cutlery on a table.

Warm food smells caused Galya’s tongue to moisten, and her stomach to growl. Cooked meat, hot oil, boiled vegetables. Above it all, the sweetness of sugary things. Galya imagined chocolate and caramel, and had to suppress a joyful giggle with a hand over her mouth. A wave of dizziness swept across her mind, and she steadied herself against the doorframe.

Susan looked up from her preparations and smiled. “Come on,” she said. “Don’t be shy.”

Galya walked slowly to the table, using any surface she could reach for balance. Her stomach burbled again, loud enough that Susan raised her eyebrows.

“Sit down,” she said. “You can get a little head start on everyone else.”

Galya lowered herself into one of the chairs, an empty plate in front of her. Susan reached into a tin and scooped up a handful of brightly wrapped sweets. She opened her hand above the plate, the sweets spilling from her fingers like pirate’s treasure. Galya unwrapped a green-colored jewel and took a bite, closed her eyes and let the chocolate melt on her tongue, exhaled through her nose as the corners of her mouth turned upward.

When she opened them, the policeman sat facing her.

“They want you in tonight, ready for interview in the morning,” he said.

The fledgling smile died on her lips.

“We can eat first,” he said. “But I have to take you in later. I asked if we could hold off until tomorrow, but the head of my MIT, my boss, he wants you in. He’s not happy I didn’t bring you straight from the hospital.”

Galya asked, “After, will I come back here?”

The policeman shook his head. “No,” he said. “They want you in custody.”

She felt heat in her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Lennon said. “They should have the Victim Care Suite available by tomorrow. You’ll only be in the cells for one night. I’ll make sure of it, I promise.”

Galya smiled, though she had a feeling Jack Lennon, like most men, seldom kept his promises.