Stolen Souls

83

GALYA SPENT THE rest of the journey in thought. The man who had held her captive had called himself a pastor, a Christian, but she wondered if he even had a soul. If he did, where had it gone when he took his own life?

How did she feel about his death? Relief? Satisfaction? Pity? All of those things, but if she looked deep into her heart, she also felt anger. Anger that he would not face her and know that she had got the better of him.

She scolded herself for gloating, even if it was only in her own mind. Mama had not raised her to be spiteful. But she had survived, and she could at least be proud. Galya let her mind wander, imagined she had died back there in that cellar, and this gray world was her afterlife, journeying forever in darkness and mist. The urge to cry came upon her, and she closed her eyes against it.

When she opened them again, they had pulled into a courtyard overlooked by a grand country house. Lennon parked the car in the farthest corner, beneath the boughs of a winter-stripped tree.

“We’re here,” he said.

He climbed out, closed his door, and walked around the car. Galya allowed him to take her hand and help her to her feet. The horizon glowed with a mass of lights, iridescent in the fog.

“What is over there?’ she asked.

“The airport,” Lennon said.

“Where is this?” she asked.

“It’s a guesthouse,” he said. “Like a hotel. We’re staying here tonight. Come on, let’s get out of the cold.”

He closed the car, locked it, and guided her toward the house. Lights burned behind closed curtains on the ground floor. Lennon pressed a doorbell. A few moments later a curtain peeled back at one of the windows, and a lady of senior years peered out.

The curtain fell back into place before a light came on in the hall, visible through the rippled glass of the door. The lady’s silhouette appeared on the other side. She slid a security chain into place and opened the door by a few inches, worry written plain on her face.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“We need a room,” Lennon said.

“At this time?” she asked, her eyebrows arching upward. “On Christmas night?”

“I know it’s last minute,” Lennon said. He placed his arm around Galya’s shoulder. “My girlfriend’s mother, back in Latvia, she’s taken ill. We’ve a flight first thing in the morning.”

She looked at each of them in turn. “Well, seeing as I’ve no stable or manger for you, I’d better let you in. Should I be expecting three wise men?”