The fifteen-year-old, bigger than most men, settled next to Galina and took her hand. She squeezed his gently. Two children, one on her lap and the other to her side. Both holding on to her.
“Do you remember how he would walk toward the door to the dungeon, then hurry away from it?” PP asked.
She nodded.
“He does that with Oleg, too, always approaching him then turning away. Then last night, after taking the photo of Oleg, he made horrible sounds, like he had a pain deep in his belly. He was bent over, one arm cupped around his stomach, the other holding out the picture of Oleg. It was like he was holding it as far from himself as possible, and then he started for the dungeon door again, but this time he pounded on it as if someone down there would open it for him. So I did.”
Galina looked at Dmitri, who was staring at her hand, still holding it, but she thought he was also listening very carefully to his father, who went on:
“He looked down the stairs, so I turned on the light. By then poor Dmitri was crying. ‘Go,’ I told him. ‘Papa will come with you.’”
“He’d never been down there?” she asked.
“Only the one time that I know of, and that was with Oleg.”
That’s right. She remembered now.
“But I’m wondering about that now,” PP added quickly.
He held her gaze. Neither the old man nor young woman spoke for a moment. Then he continued: “We went down the stairs all the way to the museum.”
PP’s word for the dungeon with its macabre collection of medieval torture devices. Galina had been down there only once, and had not been able to leave fast enough.
“Then he started with the back-and-forth business,” PP said. “This time by the skull crusher.”
A metal skullcap attached to the end of a heavy-duty screw that was turned from above by a wooden crank. Just thinking about it tightened Galina’s belly. A gruesome instrument.
“That was when he said your name,” PP told her. “Every time he turned from the skull crusher, ‘Gull, Gull.’ I wonder why?”
Galina felt accused. Nothing PP said exactly, but still…
“Would you see if he’ll go downstairs with you? He tries so hard to talk to you. I think it’s important we try this.”
Galina cleared her throat. “May I put Alexandra to bed?” She didn’t want her daughter out of her arms, but she wanted her down in that dungeon with those devices even less.
At PP’s assent, she took Alexandra away and settled her in one of the many lavishly appointed guest rooms, promising that she would be right back.
Please, dear God, let that be true.
Alexandra looked sleepy, perhaps from eating, and hardly seemed to notice her mother leaving.
Galina held Dmitri’s hand, now sweaty, and led him down the stairs. But once they reached the concrete floor, she had to coax him to move. PP stayed up by the door. She guessed that he might have thought Dmitri would be more forthcoming if just the two of them were alone. At least she hoped that was the reason.
Dmitri, indeed, proved more willing — but not with words. They walked past the rack, from which Dmitri pulled away, and armaments, including a spiked ball and serrated swords, mace and maul, halberd and war hammer. Galina had to avert her eyes, but curiously, Dmitri stared at the medieval weapons in what she would have called wonder. Maybe that was why he was so surprised when he realized they’d come upon the skull crusher.
The young man bellowed, as if hacked by the halberd, which had held his gaze seconds ago, then wrapped his arms around his abdomen. That was when Galina spotted the photo of Oleg crumpled in his hand. PP must have given it back to him when she was putting Alexandra to bed.
Then, with another shout — pure emotion, no attempt at a word — Dmitri lunged at the skull crusher and slapped the balled-up photo on the metal plate where a victim’s head would lie. He began to crank the wooden arm.
It creaked horribly, as if in protest, a sound almost overwhelmed by Dmitri’s own cries. It seemed each creak of the crusher were coming alive under his skin.
When he finished turning the crank, the crumpled photo sat under the cap like a pea in a shell game. But there was no longer any mystery for Galina about what the skullcap was hiding: the unvarnished truth.
She embraced Dmitri and let the young man with the broken mind of a little boy sob loudly in her arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly to him. “Nobody should ever have to go through something like that.”
She guessed she would have to tell PP what he had not witnessed. She hoped he would believe her. She still felt uneasy in his presence tonight and couldn’t fathom why, which compounded her anxiousness.
Galina led Dmitri upstairs. She glimpsed PP standing feet away from the landing. The rage on his face was unmistakable. She wanted to shrink from him, but didn’t dare.
“I have to tell you something,” she managed, wishing she sounded less apologetic, but she felt bad for the boy; he had carried such a brutal burden for so long.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” PP said, smashing his fist against the brocade wallpaper in the short hallway.
He turned to a built-in walnut cabinet, throwing open the door. Inside was a screen and recording device. He punched a button and video appeared of what had just transpired.
“I put cameras in after Dmitri’s ‘fall.’ The moment the light switch goes on, it triggers the digital recorder. I know what he showed you. I’ve waited years to find out what happened.”
“It’s so sad.”
Her cheeks were wet. Dmitri destroyed, his father now broken by the ugly truth about his only healthy son.
“I want to thank you for what you’ve done. It’s not easy to be the bearer of bad news — of the worst news,” he added with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to tell me what Oleg did to you because you have just told me what he did to my baby boy. He is capable of anything. Here.”
He handed her one of his finely spun cotton handkerchiefs. She felt hollowed out by what they had just learned. And yet she wasn’t surprised, just horrified. There was such a vast and disturbing difference.
“What do you need?” PP asked her. “I know you need something.”
“A loan. I’m so sorry to have to ask.”
“Whatever you need. You are the rose. If I were fifty years younger…” He shook his head. He looked like he might have been ruing the fleet passage of the last half century — only to arrive at the torturous revelations of this moment.
“Go get Alexandra. Meet me in the kitchen.”
When she walked back downstairs with her daughter, PP handed her a thick envelope. “That will take care of you wherever you’re going. I can help again, if you need it. Do not hesitate to ask. This is nothing to me.” He indicated the money. “He is everything to me, though.” He looked at Dmitri, slumped on a chair. Then he peered into Galina’s eyes. “But you and I must have an agreement.”
“Yes, of course. What is it?”
“Never to speak to anyone about what you learned here. And I shall never ask you to go through anything like this again.”
She nodded, as solemn a vow as she had ever made.
“You need to get away from Oleg. You should not take your car,” PP warned her. “They will be searching for it.”
“They?” she asked, remembering that she’d asked herself exactly the same question at home.
“Whoever Oleg has hired to do his dirty work. Thugs. Take my Macan.” He handed her the key fob for a new Porsche SUV Turbo. “The papers are all in the glove box, if you need them.”