Harrowing

by S. E. Amadis

  I shook my head. He was leading me straight to the treasure cove, and he didn’t even know it. I would have bet him the brass buttons on my coat that I could spend the whole day rummaging through Calvin’s desk drawers to my heart’s content, digging out mementos that that sexy prig could have left there for her sweetheart, and never tired of it.

  As that artless old fogey buried himself in Calvin’s numerous cupboards, I stole a surreptitious glance through Calvin’s drawer again. A hand-written card with baby blue curlicues decorating the borders caught my eye.

  “Come in whenever you like, honey-buns,” the card gushed. “Just show this card to the building manager, Mr. Kozlowski, and he’ll let you into my apartment. Remember, suite 207. Love ya! Annasuya Rose xx”

  She’d marked her simpering love letter with a huge, violet-coloured heart shape at the end. I pocketed the missive discreetly.

  *****

  I woke up in bed that night, chilled to the bone.

  Because I knew I wasn’t alone.

  I just knew it.

  There wasn’t a single sound in the apartment, but it was almost as if I’d developed some sort of bionic sense.

  I could almost hear his breathing, harsh and laboured, underneath the floorboards. Outside the window. Inside my closet. Just waiting to pounce on me.

  I dropped soundlessly out of my bed and pressed myself against the frail wooden slats of the closet. I could almost feel his heartbeat, sullen and hushed, palpitating against my skin, just on the other side of the flimsy panels. I slid the closet door open, pushed my arms inside against scruffy wool and sleek cotton hanging innocently and unobtrusively before me. There was nothing there. Of course there was nothing there.

  I slipped barefooted out the doorway into the living-room, my heart pounding close to a hundred and fifty, blood rushing so loudly through my ears I could barely hear anything else. Shadows flitted across the pale light from the windows, scrawny branches reaching out with jagged claws to nail me. The silence around me was so complete it was like a tomb. It was impossible that there could be anyone concealed in here. Impossible for any human to remain this still.

  All the same, I began to prowl between the scant furnishings. The coarse, scratchy carpet scraped unpleasantly against the soles of my feet. I crouched down behind the familiar sofa-futon. Peered into all the cupboards in the kitchenette and even crept on hands and knees behind the potted plant in the corner, although there was scarcely even any room there for a mouse, let alone a full-sized human being.

  At last I reached the bathroom. I breathed a sigh of relief. There was no place for anyone to hide out in the bathroom. I always kept the shower curtain open, and the few tiny cupboards available were located underneath the sink. I checked them anyways, just to make sure. But I knew no one would be able to fit in there. Not even Romeo.

  I flicked on the light switch, satisfied there was nothing to be afraid of after all and it was all only my overactive imagination. I checked my reflection in the mirror. A slight, petite figure with a washed-out complexion and waifish, frightened eyes peeked out at me. I splashed some water over my face, ready at last for a good night’s sleep.

  But then I saw it.

  The toilet bowl cover.

  It was up.

  I had taught Romeo ever since he was toilet trained to always, always close the toilet bowl after using it. Always.

  And he’d never let me down, not even once.

  Calvin wasn’t here tonight. And, of course, like Romeo, I never left the cover up either.

  Something whispered behind my ear.

  I whirled around.

  There was no one there.

  I thought of Romeo all of a sudden, slumbering innocently in the bedroom in his cot all unawares, trusting and unsuspecting, as a child is supposed to sleep.

  Of course, there was no need for him to ever be suspicious. After all, he had his mother to protect him and keep him safe from harm’s way at all times.

  A mother is supposed to protect her baby.

  At all hours.

  At any cost.

  I screamed and dashed into the bedroom as if my life depended on it.

  Romeo was sleeping on his cot with his arms flung out, breathing softly like a baby, his brow sweaty and sweet. My knees knocked together so hard I couldn’t stay on my feet a minute longer. I collapsed onto my bed, shivering like an aspen. I lay there for a long time, shuddering and wondering how the hell had all that happened.

  How had someone come in here and left the toilet cover up in the short time that had passed since we’d gone to bed, and I’d gotten up again to check around? And then let himself out without me even noticing anything?

  How the hell was that possible?

  Unless he’d sneaked in here while we were out during the day and hidden away somewhere, biding his time. Waiting for the perfect moment and enjoying my surroundings to his heart’s content. Lurking someplace in my bedroom, like the sleaze that he was, maybe even cowering under my bed half the night, breathing away barely inches from me while I was reading on my e-reader. Spying on the games I played with Romeo before bedtime. Watching me prance in from my shower, wrapped only in a flimsy robe.

  I reached for my mobile, engaged the torch app and studied the space underneath my bed. There was nothing there except for some pretty major dust motes, large enough to harbour a few hairy spiders, I supposed. But nothing so big as a man.

  I opened my closet again and stuck my arms in all the way to the back wall. Prowled about the living-room a second time, this time with the lights fully lit.

  Finally, it occurred to me to check the door. The locks were open, the safety chain hung loose. I never left the locks open. Ever. And ever since that night with the dead cat, I always slid the safety chain across when we were at home, if Calvin wasn’t coming in.

  I had no idea when or how he’d gotten in. No idea if he’d somehow broken in, gotten a hold of my key in some mysterious fashion and made a copy of it or someone had let him in. I wouldn’t have put anything past such an ingenious scumbag like him. But there was no doubt about it.

  He had been in here.

  Chapter 19

  Sandy Bleckley glared with hostility over the auburn frames of her horn-rimmed reading glasses.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Annasuya,” she said, compressing her lips into a flat line of disapproval. “I’ve had several complaints about you over the past few days. Is something wrong?”

  I teetered before her on my two-inch heels, across the desk from her, and started wringing my hands unconsciously. Something started jiggling in my stomach. I wished she would invite me to have a seat.

  “What’s... what’s wrong with my work?” I gasped out almost in a whisper. “I wasn’t aware that I’d done anything wrong.”

  Sandy sighed, arranged her glasses carefully on her desk and folded her hands around her glasses.

  “Quite frankly, I was a bit surprised myself. Up until now your work has been impeccable. Everyone has been very content.”

  She pulled out a few printed sheets.

  “Do you see the date on this email?” She laid the print-out of an email before me.

  Since she hadn’t invited me to sit, I had to lean over to read it. I hoped she’d take the hint and ask me to take a seat, but she didn’t.

  “Do you see the date you’d indicated to the client for the meeting? It says April the eighth, right? Now check the date of the email itself.” Her hand glided over the pertinent area. “May fourth. Now tell me, Annasuya, how in the world was the client supposed to meet with Jim Donovan on April the eighth if the date had already passed? Unless he just happened to possess a time machine, of course.”

  I gulped.

  “I assume that you meant to write May eighth,” she continued without pausing. “And one mistake I can overlook. But here is another one.”

  She shoved another email at me, her gestures brusque with impatience.

  “You booked a room at the Hyatt Reg
ency in Washington D.C. for our CFO for his business trip. Isn’t that right?”

  I nodded, trembling and wondering where I’d gone wrong. Sandy pulled out some plane tickets.

  “Look at these tickets. What destination can see you on them?”

  She pressed the plane tickets into my reluctant fingers. I hardly dared to glance down at them. Did so anyways, intimidated by the menacing expression on Sandy’s face, and swallowed hard.

  “Can you read that to me? What does it say?”

  “Mon... Montreal, ma’am,” I managed to stammer out. I felt blood rushing into my cheeks.

  “Other than the fact that both are located in the north-eastern part of North America, I really cannot distinguish any similarities between Washington D.C. and Montreal, Annasuya. Can you?” Sandy snatched the tickets from me, her tone scathing.

  I bit my lips and shook my head.

  I really for the life of me could not recall having committed such a gross error. I clearly remembered the sheet of handwritten paper that Reginald, the CFO, had plunked onto my desk the other morning, requesting a reservation at the Hyatt Regency of Washington D.C. But I had no way of proving it. I had, naturally, tossed the paper into the bin after making the reservation.

  “I’m... I’m sorry, Sandy. I don’t know what got into me,” I blubbered. “It won’t happen again.”

  But Sandy wasn’t finished with me.

  “It won’t happen again, you say, Annasuya?” She arched her eyebrows at me. “Ah, but it has already happened again.”

  She pulled out another sheet, her demeanour hard and brisk, this time making no effort to conceal her anger.

  “Who did you address this email to, Annasuya? Who?” Her voice rose shrilly.

  I glanced at the email.

  “Mrs... Mrs... Weatherspoon, ma’am?” My voice was scarcely audible.

  Sandy banged another sheet of paper before me.

  “Yes, you addressed the CEO of Dunn’s Furnishings as Mrs. Weatherspoon. And according to this informational pamphlet, who is the CEO of Dunn’s Furnishings?”

  My eyes paraded over the name “Kerry Williams” printed neatly across the back of the pamphlet. I was struck mute.

  Sandy sighed.

  “This can’t go on, Annasuya,” she said. “I’ve been patient with you, because until these last few days, your work has been above reproach. But we’re a business, not a psychology clinic. If you’re not up to your tasks, I’m sorry but I will have to ask for someone to replace you.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to utter a single word. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I glanced towards the corner of the room to dissimulate. I had no idea how I could have made such serious mistakes. From what I could remember, the name of the CEO on the pamphlet had been printed as “Kerry Weatherspoon”. I sank onto a chair uninvited.

  Sandy studied me, her expression softening.

  “Look, Annasuya, this might not sound professional, but I won’t deny that I think you’re a good person, with the best intentions in the world. I know you didn’t make any of these mistakes on purpose.”

  She leaned across her table and withdrew all the papers from me.

  “So I’ll give you one more opportunity. I’ll give you a week’s trial.”

  She straightened the papers neatly.

  “But if I find even one mistake during this week, I’m sorry but I’m afraid I’ll have to call the temp agency.”

  She stood up smartly and flung her handbag over her shoulder.

  “Before we leave, is there anything you want to tell me? Are you having problems at home? Is there anything going on between you and any of the employees here?”

  I shook my head, staring at the floor. Sandy sauntered out from behind her desk.

  “If there’s something you want to tell me... If any of the other employees has been giving you any problems...” She reached out and touched my shoulder, awkwardly. “Please, if you tell me about these things, don’t feel like you’re tattling or betraying anybody. The only loyalty here is to the company and to a job well done.”

  I nodded, swallowing back tears.

  Sandy scooped into her handbag and flashed out her mobile.

  “Look, it’s late. It’s almost six o’clock. I’m sorry I’ve kept you after hours. Do you want a lift somewhere? I remember you said something about having to pick up your son?”

  I wrung my hands and shook my head. I couldn’t say a single word. Sandy strode towards the door. I followed her, not daring to raise my head.

  “Well, if you’re sure?” Sandy stepped out of her office and switched off the light, then headed towards the door of the suite.

  “Come on, Annasuya. I have to close up.”

  I switched off my computer hastily, then grabbed my blazer and handbag and squeezed rudely past Sandy into the corridor. Sandy stalked towards the elevators and pressed the button, tapping her foot impatiently. Her high-heeled pumps made brief staccato noises on the polished marble floor.

  I brushed against her and stumbled against the stairwell door, slamming it open with a clang. Sandy stared at me in surprise.

  “Where are you going?” she called after me. “The elevator won’t take long.”

  Shaking my head, I barged into the stairwell and tumbled down the stairs two at a time, my breath catching in my throat. I couldn’t restrain the sobs that heaved out of me as I shoved my way through the fire escape door into the freedom and anonymity of the polluted streets.

  Once at a safe distance from the building, where I was sure I wouldn’t bump into Sandy, I fished my mobile out of my bag with trembling hands and dialled the number of Romeo’s school. To my relief, it was Mrs. Garrison, Romeo’s homeroom teacher, who answered.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I stammered into the phone. “I’m so, so sorry for the inconvenience. I know I’ve done this to you too many times, and I haven’t got any excuse...”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Adler,” Mrs. Garrison’s voice gushed enthusiastically into my ear. “Someone’s already come by to pick up Romeo. His father, I believe. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands. Take your time. Breathe.”

  I took her instructions literally. My breath hissed out with relief, audibly. I heard Mrs. Garrison chuckle.

  “Have a wonderful evening, Ms. Adler,” she said before hanging up.

  I stared at the phone. Something niggled at me. I wondered when she had started to consider Calvin Romeo’s father. I knew that Mrs. Garrison was aware of how close our relationship had become, and that maybe she was even starting to suspect that one day soon, Romeo might enjoy the advantages of having a new stepfather. But for the moment, I’d never given her any sort of indication that she could refer to Calvin as Romeo’s father – yet.

  I shook the phone and tossed it into my bag. I worried too much, I thought. But then again, on the other hand, I was a mother. Worrying was a mother’s prerogative, wasn’t it?

  I tottered towards the subway station, relief at not having to rush to Romeo’s school alternating with that vague sick feeling at the prospect of losing my job. If Sandy sent me packing, I didn’t think Geri would give me another chance. My stomach churned. Typing and preparing PowerPoint presentations were the only things I knew how to do. If the temp agency dropped me, I knew my chances of finding another job were almost nil.

  True, I could always apply at other temp agencies. But they would ask for references. And somehow I didn’t think Geri would be too keen on recommending me to anyone after this.

  I fell against the glass door of the subway station, wavering on my two-inch heels as if they were stilettos. A gentleman I had never seen before caught a hold of my elbow to steady me. I glanced at him in alarm and scurried down the escalator before I realized how paranoid I was acting. I hurled myself, almost leapt, into the subway train as soon as the doors parted in front of me, sobbing like a schoolchild. I hunched onto a seat and cried during the whole trip, burying my face behind my handbag to guard myself from embarrassed gazes.
r />   Eglinton subway station, my stop, rushed past me, then Lawrence. When I finally recovered enough presence of mind to raise my head and stare out the window, I discovered we were already pulling into the last station. Finch. End of the line. If I didn’t leave now they’d chase us all out like recalcitrant, naughty schoolkids.

  I tumbled out onto the platform, numb with dread. End of the line. End of all my hopes and dreams and aspirations as well, it seemed. And maybe the end of our stay on Old Forest Hill Road, to boot. Next stop, a bench in High Park for me and state custody for Romeo, in all likelihood.

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I directed myself like an automaton towards the escalators to change onto the trains heading in the opposite direction. But suddenly, I realized that I was close to the cemetery.

  Chapter 20

  The cemetery. How could I forget? How long had it been since I’d come to visit my mother?

  I rarely came to the cemetery to talk to her anymore. I preferred to hold my imaginary conversations with her in the privacy of my bedroom. I imagined that she would be hovering just above my head, like an omnipresent and ever-loving angel, hanging on to every word I breathed.

  My mother had left the world during my third year at university. For a short while afterwards, my father had hung on, sad-eyed and mournful, a dismal fixture rocking back and forth in the living-room, refusing to return to work and drinking himself into a stupor ever more frequently.

  Then one day, he’d shown up with a twinkle in his eye and poured the contents of all his bottles down the drain.

  “I’m going to present you to Ravenna,” he said.

  Ravenna was twenty years younger than him. She was ravishingly beautiful. Dark curls framing a heart-shaped face with olive skin and blood-red lips, lush eyelashes a mile long even without mascara. Ravenna was everything my mother hadn’t been: young, red-cheeked, voluptuous, just bursting with health from every pore. Before a year had passed, my father had sold the family home and used the money to elope with Ravenna to Australia. That was the last I’d ever heard from him.