The Town (46 page)

Sasha was back. She’d come home late last night, looking like she’d been beaten up, and Mom had been hysterical, rushing her into the bathroom to get cleaned up and bandaged. Her dad had acted like he didn’t even care, and Teo supposed that was the first time she’d thought that maybe the
banya
was behind this.

That was the first time she’d sensed the danger.

She wished they were back in California. Things like this had never happened there. As she stared out the window of her room at the yellow-leafed cottonwood, at the cloudless blue sky and the tan rock of the canyon cliffs, she did what she had been trying so hard not to do. She cried.

Agafia had fallen asleep on Semyon’s couch, waiting for him to return. But by morning she’d known that something was wrong, that something had happened to him. He was supposed to have come back immediately after telling the others to bring the prophet to her house, that that was the location of the breach, the source of the
neh chizni doohc
. She and Semyon were then supposed to go together and try to rescue Julia and the kids. She knew there might be a problem with Gregory, that he might not want to let them leave, but with Julia, the kids, Semyon, herself, and the power of prayer and God’s grace, she had no doubt that they could get away.

Semyon had not returned, however, and she’d eventually fallen asleep, waking up this morning to find that she was still alone in the house.

And she’d hurried immediately back home.

Or hurried back as fast as her old legs could take her. All of the running around the past two days had taken quite a toll, and she ached all over: her leg muscles were sore, even her lungs hurt when she breathed. She considered herself to be in pretty good shape for her age, but that age was 74, and as much as she would like to deny it, she was not a young woman anymore.

God gave her strength, however, and Agafia hobbled doggedly along roads that had not changed or improved much since her own teenage years, grateful that the way was mostly downhill. Semyon’s house was not too far from theirs, and in less than fifteen minutes she was walking up the porch steps.

Luckily, they were all home.

Luckily, they were all right.

She didn’t know what she’d been thinking. She should have made sure Julia and the kids were out of here and safe first, before she’d even gone to Semyon’s, and she was filled with guilt at the thought of her irresponsibility. It was pure luck that it hadn’t turned into a disaster, that she hadn’t come back to find them butchered.

What could have made her act so stupidly? She looked around the living room, dark even in the day, and she wondered if she had been influenced by whatever power had taken up residence here, if she had done what
it
wanted her to do rather than what she knew to be right.

Of course, now that she was thinking clearly, logically, did that mean that its influence was gone?

Or did that mean that it now
wanted
her to help Julia and the kids get away?

Neither, she assumed. It probably meant that Gregory was enough in control here to enforce its will and it didn’t need to expend any extra energy trying to influence the other people in this house.

She’d noticed the difference in atmosphere the moment she’d come back, the second she’d walked through that door. Tension hung thick and heavy in the air, and the feeling here was far different than the one at Semyon’s. As always, she’d said a prayer before even walking inside, and she was grateful now for even that small bit of protection.

There was
hrehc
here.

Evil.

She and Julia huddled around the kitchen table, trying to decide what to do. The phone was dead. It had not exactly been a surprise, but it still brought home to them the seriousness of their predicament, the lengths to which the spirits here would go in order to cripple them, to thwart their efforts to escape. They were both wary, conscious of the fact that they might be under surveillance, that it was more than possible they were being spied upon.

Gregory had the van keys, and Julia had proposed going up there, confronting him and trying to take the keys from him, but it was too dangerous, Agafia told her. Even if both of them went up to the attic, they would not be facing just Gregory, they would be facing Gregory and whatever
else
lived in this house. Agafia doubted that even with weapons and a Bible and prayers of protection, the two of them could stand up to that sort of power alone.

Semyon had driven his car last night, but he had another old Chevy in his carport, and Agafia wondered aloud if there weren’t keys for the vehicle somewhere in his house. There was no guarantee that it would work even if they did find the keys, but taking Semyon’s Chevy was a possibility. She had not driven since coming to McGuane—Gregory had not let her do anything but ride in the van—but if worse came to worst, she could try to drive the car.

“Or I could drive it,” Julia said.

“Even better,” Agafia told her in Russian.

They talked quietly. Sasha was still asleep in her bedroom, and when the two of them went in to look in on her, they could see that she was not ready to go anywhere. Even if they could sneak out of the house, even if Semyon’s old car worked, even if they could find the keys for it, even if they could get it back here, they would have to carry Sasha out, and they both doubted that Gregory would allow them to do that.

Agafia did not like the fact that Sasha was upstairs, in her own bedroom. The girl had gone there herself, apparently, had insisted upon it after Julia had taken care of her cuts and put some salve on her bruises, but it was still too close to Gregory and the attic, and it made her nervous. If they were lucky, Gregory would remain upstairs until they had a chance to get out of here or to figure out how to call for help.

If they were unlucky . . .

She didn’t even want to think about that.

As Julia bathed her daughter’s forehead with a cold washcloth, Agafia had an idea. She took Adam with her out to the carport, where the two of them picked up a ladder and brought it back into the house. The attic door opened only one way—down—and they positioned the top of the ladder against the trapdoor, wedging the bottom between the wall and the floor in order to block the door and keep Gregory from opening it. Adam knew what they were doing, but he said nothing about it, and Agafia wondered what was going through his mind as they trapped his father inside the attic. It could not be healthy, it could not be good, for a young boy to have to do something like this.

All three of them walked downstairs to where Teo sat alone in the living room, reading a book and listening to the radio. Adam went to join her, and Agafia looked at her daughter-in-law. She suddenly had another idea.

“You take Adam and Teodosia,” she said in Russian. “Take them to . . . I don’t know. Take them away from here. I will meet you with Sasha as soon as she is strong enough to walk.”

Julia shook her head. “She’s my daughter. I can’t leave her. Besides, what do you think would happen after Gregory discovered we pulled something like that? You think he’d just wait around for several days until Sasha’s condition improved, and then let you two go walking out of here? No. He would cripple you if he had to. He’d do what he needed to make sure you two couldn’t go.”

Julia thought for a moment. “
You
take Adam and Teo,” she said. “I’ll stay here with Sasha. Go to your friend Semyon’s house. Draw me a map.”

Agafia shook her head. “I need to be here. Only I can fight against this.”

“Then I guess we all stay. I can’t send those two out alone. Who knows what’s out there? At least we
know
what we have to deal with in this house.” She glanced up at the ceiling, but Agafia knew she was thinking of the attic.

And Gregory.

They were both silent for a moment, looking at each other.

Agafia smiled, tried to be reassuring. “Don’t worry. I can handle him,” she promised.

But she wasn’t sure of that.

She wasn’t sure at all.

 

Julia removed all of the knives from the kitchen, saving one for herself. Agafia helped her look through the other cupboards and closets, trying to weed out things that could be used as weapons, attempting to make the house attack-proof. Everything they found, Julia took outside, tossed into the weeds at the side of the drive.

“That should help,” she said.

None of them went outdoors after that.

The day was strange. It was only a blackout, but it felt as though they’d been hit by a hurricane or a tornado and were between storms, waiting for the next one to hit. It was like being under siege.

The radio had been on the entire time, and the batteries finally gave out around dusk. There were a few other batteries, but Julia wanted to save them for her flashlight, and Agafia agreed that was a good idea. It was quiet without the radio, though. Too quiet. Even Gregory in the attic was silent, and Julia broke out a deck of cards and played War with Adam and Teo in the kitchen, getting up periodically to check on Sasha.

None of this would have happened, Agafia thought, if she had made sure to get them out before leaving yesterday, if she’d just taken them with her to Semyon’s. But that game could be played forever. None of it would have happened if they had returned to California a month ago, if one of them had remembered to invite Jedushka Di Muvedushka to come with them, if they’d never moved back to McGuane, if Gregory had never won the lottery . . .

She fell asleep after a makeshift dinner, on the couch again, and when she woke up, only Julia was in the room. The single candle that was still burning was low, and the room was bathed in shadows that did not all appear to be natural.

“Where are Adam and Teodosia?” she whispered.

Julia looked over at her. “In their rooms. Sleeping.”

“Why aren’t they sleeping in here?” She was instantly filled with dread—and anger at what she saw as her daughter-in-law’s stupidity.

“Because the bedrooms have locks.”

“You let Adam go upstairs—?”

“I’ve been up there myself half the time. With Sasha.”

“You should have put him in my room.”

Julia blinked, stared at her blankly. She obviously hadn’t thought of that, and Agafia again wondered how much influence this place was exerting on them, how much their thought processes were being affected just by remaining in this house.

There was a movement of shadow in the far corner that did not correspond to the flickers of the candle. Agafia picked up the flashlight, quickly shone it in that corner, and was gratified to see nothing there.

She turned the flashlight off. Her head hurt, and she was dimly aware that she’d had a dream, some sort of nightmare about the
banya
.

The
banya
.

Something clicked in her mind, a connection that had not been made before, and while it was not something she could explain, not something that was specifically spelled out, she suddenly realized that the
banya
was just as central to what was happening as the house was, and she thought that maybe
it
was the doorway through which—what did Adam say the Indians called them? uninvited guests?—were coming, and that perhaps the tide could be stemmed there.

Why hadn’t she figured that out earlier? How could she have been so blind?

She pushed herself up and off the couch, grabbed her Bible from the table.

“What are you doing?” Julia asked her.

They’d been speaking only Russian for most of the day, not wanting the children to understand what they were talking about, and they were still speaking it now even though they were alone.

Agafia picked up one of the unlit candles, placed its wick next to the burning flame of the candle on the table. “I am going to the
banya
.”

The statement sounded frightening even to herself. It was too dramatic, too self-important, but she
felt
dramatic, this
seemed
important, and there was an urgency about it, a powerful impetus to do this right now, this second, a sense that there was no time to waste and that if she did not hurry, whatever window of opportunity was open to her would be closed.

Something had been trying to communicate with her for quite a while—

—and she did not know why she had not paid more attention to her dreams, why she had . . . not exactly ignored them, but not acted upon them, not pursued the truths they were trying to reveal.

She hurried over to the closet in the entryway, placed her candle and Bible on the table next to the door, and took out her jacket, putting it on. Julia was following her, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do, and Agafia turned to her. “Keep your knife close,” she said. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

Julia seemed about to say something, but instead she just nodded.

“Get Adam downstairs. Put him in my room. When I get back, we’ll try to bring Sasha down.” She picked up her Bible and candle, said a quick prayer of protection, blessed Julia, the kids, the house, then hurried outside without waiting for a response. The sense of urgency was now almost overwhelming, and the feeling within her was something like panic. She could not run, because she did not want to put out the candle, but she walked as quickly as she could toward the back of the property, past the cottonwood, toward the
banya
. The thought occurred to her that she should have brought the flashlight instead of the candle, but she figured that Julia and the kids needed it more than she did.

Should she have brought any of them with her?

No. Julia was right. At least they knew what was in the house. Out here . . .

Who knew what she would find?

The ground was getting rough, the candlelight was not particularly effective, and she was forced to slow down so that she wouldn’t trip. From somewhere far away, she thought she heard the sound of wind.