CHAPTER ONE
Rosa stood on the side of the road, her back to Santa Domingo de Silos, the site of the revered medieval abbey. Northern Spain could be warm this time of year, so she stood beneath sparse tree cover, with the faint hint of thick air rising on the wind. Now, below the Burgos Province, she was running out of options.
Her thumb jutted beneath the summer sky, one hand on her hip as another vehicle pulled past, ignoring her.
She frowned at the fleeing sedan, the angry red taillights meeting a glare of her own.
“Mierda,” she muttered beneath her breath. She’d thought by coming to one of the more popular pilgrimage sites she’d have ample opportunity for transportation. She needed to reach Madrid. Her sister had offered her a room for the next two weeks.
This could be it… a chance to reconcile.
Her shoulders stiffened slightly and she reached into her pocket with her free hand. The other maintained the wavering thumb over the dusty road. The sound of birds chirped from the sparse trees, flitting against a backdrop of some postcard, the stone-structured, medieval abbey visible over the curve of the switchback.
Her scrambling fingers withdrew her emaciated wallet. She flipped it open, if only to confirm what she already knew.
Empty.
Not even enough for bus fare or a bribe.
She felt a familiar sense of anxiety welling up inside her, filling her with horror. But she didn’t scream. She didn’t shout. Rosa stood straight-postured, proud. She had to make it to Madrid.
Then her luck would change.
She took a step into the roadway. More out of insistence than any attempt to blockade traffic.
This time, a passing car leaned on its horn as it swerved around her in a cloud of dust. A man flashed a middle finger out the driver’s side window, which she was more than happy to return. “Bastardo!” she called after him, switching the digit of her upraised hand. “St. James spits on you!” she yelled after the car.
This time, the red brake lights went on and didn’t flick off. The car was coming to a halt. The front door began to open and she heard a stream of cursing in Spanish.
With a yelp, Rosa turned, hastening in the opposite direction, down the small incline, beneath the twittering birds in the trees, tracing along the metal barrier protecting cars from tipping over the drop-off.
Once she was out of sight, around the bend and confident the man wasn’t chasing after her, she jutted her thumb up again, her other hand on her waist, tilting her hips to accentuate them. She needed to get to Madrid. Nothing else mattered now.
She never considered herself particularly religious but many sorts who came through this way were following the path of St. James. The revered apostle. A little prayer couldn’t hurt.
“Please,” she murmured beneath her breath. “Help me, uh… James? And Mary. Yes. Help…” She nodded her head as if in farewell and flashed her thumbs up at the clouds. She wasn’t sure the etiquette of ending a prayer properly.
As she did, tilting her face to the sky, she heard the snarl of another approaching engine.
Rosa turned, sighing and not daring to even smile. So many cars had already passed by; what would be the point of getting her hopes up again? Still, she kept her arm extended. She needed to get to Madrid. One way or another. Her life would have a second chance. Her sister would give her a place to stay. She might even find an honest job. She was tired of living like this, broke all the time, moving from one bad boyfriend to the next, following promises that were never fulfilled. She’d wanted to start a family by now. She sighed, feeling a lump in her throat, wondering how things had gotten off track so quickly. Still, she was young; she had her whole life ahead of her.
This new car moving up the road was a dilapidated rust bucket. The front was streaked with weathered portions of stripped paint. The windows were low, and one of the mirrors had been replaced with the wrong color. It would have been wrong to say the car was green. More like, it attempted to be green but failed halfway through the effort. The sun, over the course of what looked like a century, had worn the rust bucket out. Surprisingly, though, the windows were pristine. Not a visible smudge as the car slowed, drawing near. To her astonishment, the passenger side window of the old jalopy began to roll down. She peered into the window, toward the person sitting within. Her eyebrows went up. “Hello,” she said, trying not to sound too eager.
“Hello,” the voice from within replied. A crisp, clear tone. She had an ear for that sort of thing, given how many boyfriends she’d gone through. She could pick out a drunk a mile away. Could pick out a drug user. Could pick out someone in the throes of depression. All these things she’d experienced. This person, though, was straight-edged. She could tell instantly. The crisp, clear voice, eyes alert, posture straight. The interior of the vehicle immaculate, despite the worn exterior. The person’s hair was neatly combed, not a single strand out of place.
Perhaps her prayers had been heard after all. “Are you going to Madrid?” she said, flashing as charming a smile as she could manage and jutting her hip out just a bit more. She didn’t have any money, but she’d often been told she was charming.
The man seemed impervious to this, though. His tone was calm. “I can,” he said. “What are you offering?”
She blinked, staring through the open window. “I’m,” she said, hesitantly, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money.”
“I see. Is that why you do this? For money?”
She hesitated, wrinkling her nose. Straight-edged, perhaps, but something was off. Something in his eyes. He didn’t blink. His voice was calm, soothing, but his posture was rigid, as if someone had installed a rod of iron in his spine. “Money? No, I’m not trying to get paid. I just need a ride. When I get there, I can probably help with some gas.”
Inwardly she kicked herself, hoping her sister wouldn’t rip her apart for the promise.
“It’s a sin to sell your flesh,” the man said, still softly. He shook his head, his dark eyes fixated on her now. “Do you know where we are?”
“I—yes.”
“This is a gathering for pilgrims. It is not the right place to do what you’re doing.”
Now she felt a flash of irritation. “What do you think I’m doing?”
He waved a hand toward her hip, toward her thumb. “Offering what the good Lord gave you for free. Offering what isn’t right to share with anyone. It isn’t right. It is a sin.”
Her mouth felt suddenly dry. “I’m…” She hesitated, studying the man, and then cursed. “I’m not a prostitute. What? No. I need a ride. I’m not—not doing that.”
She would have been lying if she said she’d never considered it. She wasn’t bad looking, as her slew of boyfriends could attest, but she wasn’t sure she could face her sister or her nephews if she’d gone down that route. Her irritation was now turning to discomfort. The man was still watching her, not in a lewd sort of way. Another expression she was all too familiar with. Rather, he seemed to be weighing something. As if passing judgment. Not an emotional, insulting sort, though. The man carried himself in a way that suggested he was weighing actual outcomes. Wondering how he ought to act next. A slow breeze came over the trees, and the birds above seemed quieter all of a sudden.
Her heart strained in her chest, and she took a step away from the car. “You know what, thanks, but I think I’m good. I’ll walk.”
“You’re lying.” His voice was still calm, not at all matching the way his hands furiously gripped the steering wheel.
“No, I’ll walk. Go away.”
He held up one finger, pointing it through the clean window. “A lie.” He held up a second finger. “Promiscuity.” He held up a third finger. “And using foul language. Haven’t you heard? Do not let any unwholesome speech come from your mouth.” He shook his head. “Child, you should know better.”
She began to walk back in the direction of the abbey. She didn’t need this shit. Who was this guy, coming along all self-righteous? She needed to get to Madrid. And she certainly didn’t want to do it in his car. As she stalked back up the road, trying to distance herself, he continued to follow at a snail’s pace.
“I will not drive you, but I can give you this,” he said.
She hesitated, walking, but feeling a prickle up her spine. She should have just kept going. She didn’t know why she didn’t. But she was desperate. She needed money. She needed to get to Madrid. So she turned, slowly, still walking, but glancing through the front windshield. To her surprise, in his hand, he clutched a role of euro bills.
She went still, eyes wide. “I’m not a prostitute,” she said, insistently.
“This is charity, dear. Compassion. I don’t want anything from you.”
She wet her lips with her tongue, feeling suddenly nervous. She needed the money. But the man was strange. He’d accused her of being a prostitute. He’d called her a sinner. Did she really want his money? Then again, hadn’t that been what had gotten her into the situation? Pride? An unwillingness to accept help from her family? She sighed, swallowing her pride and extending a tentative hand toward the money. “You sure, señor?”
“It’s the Lord’s work.”
She extended a hand through his window, her fingers brushing the crisp bills. The money would change a lot. It looked like a month of rent. Maybe there were still good people around, even somewhat strange ones.
Her fingers rested on the money and that’s when his demeanor shifted. Calm, rigid, all of it suddenly faded to sudden rapid motion. His hand shot forward, snaring her wrist and yanking her forward. At the same time, his other hand hit the button to the window, and the glass started to rise toward her neck. Her head had now yanked through the window. ...
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