Keys.
She stopped, one foot above the other, the door in touching distance. He would have the keys on him. Had she heard them jangle when he hit the floor? Yes, she believed so.
If she tried the front door, she would likely find it locked, and she would only have given him time to recover. Better to go back, find the keys, while he was still reeling.
Galya offered a short and silent prayer to Mama and turned around. She descended slowly, her left hand on the rail, her right holding the torch. It didn’t cross her mind to switch it on until she reached the cellar floor and felt more tiny pieces of glass pierce her already torn skin.
She turned the torch in her hand until she found the switch. A circle of pale light opened on the linoleum, found nothing but white sparkling glass and a single drop of red.
A sour milk smell, warm air on the back of her neck.
Galya spun, the torch arcing up and out, but a hard hand grabbed her wrist.
His moon face came close, his bared teeth visible in the dim light from above.
“Please don’t,” he said.
Galya tried to pull her arm away, but it might as well have been nailed to a wall. Anger flared in her heart, anger at herself for allowing him to reclaim her so easily. She jerked her arm again, throwing the weight of her body behind it.
His grip hardened. A red line crept from his temple to his cheek, slipping between the thick hairs of his beard.
“Let me help you,” he said.
Galya turned her rage on him and growled as she slashed at his pale skin with her free hand, leaving a red welt beneath his right eye, mirroring the scar that ran above it. Small beads of blood broke on its surface.
He pushed her back and down. She landed hard, sending a spike of pain up her spine. The torch clattered on the concrete. Before she could cry out, he bent down and grabbed a handful of her hair with one hand, the torch with the other. “I only want to help you,” he said. “To save you.”
“Let me go,” she said.
“Shut up,” he said, yanking her head back. “Don’t fight me. Don’t make me do something … bad.”
“I want to go home,” Galya said, more to herself than to him. “Please let me go home, I won’t tell anyone about you, about this place, please, I—”
“Shut up,” he said, his face close to hers, his sour milk breath hot on her cheeks. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
She realized she’d been speaking in Russian. Her mind raced to find the words in English, but they would not come. He let go of her hair, let her fall back on the floor. The torch flicked on, and she shielded her eyes from its burning glare.
“You can stay down here,” he said, backing away. “In the dark.”
He reached the steps. “Think things over. Calm down. Try to understand, I don’t want to hurt you.”
He climbed, keeping the torch trained on her, watching her over his shoulder. When he reached the top step, he turned and stared down at her.
Galya crawled away from the weak pool of light on the floor, found the darkness.
“Go on,” he said. “Hide. It won’t be long now. You’ll see. I have a few things to do, some things to get ready, and then we’ll begin. I promised I’d save you, and I will. Just you wait. It’ll be beautiful. You’ll thank God I found you. They all thanked God I found them. All of them. In the end.”
The door closed, and the air grew thick with darkness. Galya found a corner and wept.
45
LENNON EXITED THE lift and rapped his knuckles hard on Susan’s door. It had only been a few hours since he’d left her flat, but it felt like days. He had his hand raised to knock again when she answered it.
“Jesus, don’t kick my door in,” she scolded. “What’s wrong?”
Lennon looked past her into the flat. He heard the girls’ voices, a disagreement of some kind.
“Nothing,” he said.
“You’re lying,” she said, stepping back. “But come in anyway. You might remember you have a daughter.”
Lennon closed the door behind him. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s been a bad day.”
“It’s been worse for some people, going by the news. Any closer to getting it wrapped up?”
“A little,” he said.
Susan went to enter the living room, but Lennon took her elbow.
“What?” she asked, a line of concern at the center of her forehead. “What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just—”
She pulled away from him. “For Christ’s sake, don’t string me along. I’m not one of those slappers you used to trawl the bars for. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“All right,” he said, putting his hands on her upper arms. “Has there been anyone around today? Anyone looking for me? Or anyone unusual, anyone you wouldn’t expect to see around the apartments?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No one. Why?”
“Any phone calls?”
“Just Ellen’s aunt about five times.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Tell me why you’re so worried about visitors and phone calls.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Lennon said.
“But it might be something.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”
Susan took a step away, her face hardening against him. “Look, Jack, I do a lot for you. I’ve never once complained, I’ve never said no unless I couldn’t help it. I’ve helped you raise that wee girl for more than a year now, and all the thanks I ever got were a kiss and a fumble. I did it because I like you, and I like Ellen.”
Lennon reached for her arms again, but she slapped his hands away.
“Now listen to me, Jack. If there’s the slightest possibility that you’ve brought trouble to my door, then you bloody well tell me. If there’s reason for me to fear for the safety of my daughter, then I want to know right now, or you can fuck off.”
He put his hands in his pockets, leaned his back against the wall, and let the air and anger out of his lungs.
“There might be someone out there with a grudge against me,” Lennon said.
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him. He’s the one who took Ellen and her mother.”
“Christ,” she said, the anger leaving her.
“I was sure he was dead. I thought the fire had got him. Then I got a card this morning. Signed with just one letter: a T. I tore it up and threw it away.”
“Where was it sent from?”
“The postmark said Finglas, but he probably had someone else send it for him. He could be anywhere, abroad most likely, but he must have contacts, people he can send messages through.”
“So he might not even be in Ireland,” Susan said.
Lennon studied the tasteful pattern on her carpet. “I got a phone call from him a few minutes ago. He made some threats, nothing specific, but he mentioned Ellen.”
Susan bit on her fingernail. “You think he’ll come for her?” “No, not now,” Lennon said. “I don’t think so. If he was going to make a move, he’d just make it. He wouldn’t give me advance warning. He just wants to make me squirm. To scare me.”
“Did he succeed?”
Lennon looked through the crack in the door to see Ellen grab a crayon from Lucy’s hand.
“Yes,” he said.
Susan’s fingertips brushed his cheek. Lennon shivered.
