Town of the doomed souls

Chapter 3

Ten minutes later, he parked the car by the high walls of the snow-white temple. He entered through the heavy doors and stopped. Andrew had never been a deeply religious man, and never been to Church, except for the distant day of his christening. His mother said that he was less than one year old back then, so he had no memories of that day.

Looking around, he noticed a young woman in a headscarf, behind the counter of a small pavilion at the entrance, who looked curiously at his uniform. The counter was covered with icons, calendars, and postcards - all with the images of temples and churches, there were also thin yellow candles and other church stuff he knew nothing about. For lack of a better candidate for a guide, Andrew went straight to her.

'Hallo, can you please tell me where I can find a priest?'

'Father is in his room now.'

'May someone take me there?'

'Yes, I may.' She stepped from behind the counter and lead Andrew into the temple under the high vaulted ceiling painted with images of saints with halos over their heads and winged angels. At the end of a small corridor hidden in shadows there was a door. The woman knocked.

'Father, there is a police officer to see you.' She said in a quiet voice.

Even though Andrew never heard a sound from behind the slightly opened door, she let him in.
The interior of the room was strikingly different from what he saw outside this heavy door. It was more like a bright office, with a large window, a wardrobe, chairs and a massive desk, behind which a man in a clerical garment was sitting.

'Good day,' he inclined his head in greeting.

'Hello,' Andrew replied and walking across the room, sat down in the offered chair, 'I'm captain Lavrov.'

'Father George' answered the bearded man, 'How come I didn't see you before?'

'I came here only a month ago.'

'Oh, I see. What's brought you here?'

'Father George, can you tell me,' Andrew paused, trying to choose the right words - he was a complete ignoramus in everything concerning the Church. 'Uh... who took your place here in the nineteen ninety-first?'

As far as he could tell this man was too young to be working here thirty years ago even taking into account his long grayish beard. But could he make the question that way? He wasn't sure if the verb "to work" was relevant here.

'Ninety-first,' repeated the priest thinking. 'I've been here since two thousand and ten. Father Paul was before me. So he was – he became a senior priest at the eighty-fifth.'

'Can you tell me, father George, where is he now? Can I talk to him?'

'You can. Father Paul hears out everyone who needs it.'

'So... where can I find him?'

'If it's urgent, I can have my son to show you the way.' The priest watched the police officer with interest.

'It's not urgent, but I would like to be through with it as soon as possible.'

'Well, you just wait.'

The waiting was not long. Five minutes later Andrew already followed a skinny teenager in a black long robe through the courtyard, surrounded by the old buildings of red, chipped bricks.

'Does Father Paul live by the temple?' asked Andrew.

'Yes,' the boy replied. 'He believes in the legend and prays for the damned souls.'

'The legend? What kind of a legend?'

The boy turned around, slowing down.

'The legend of our town's foundation.'