Harrowing

by S. E. Amadis

  I saw my mother on the last morning of her life. I kissed her, as I did every day before leaving for university, and she tucked a bagel filled with cream cheese wrapped in a napkin into my rucksack.

  “A snack for you, Batya,” she crooned, calling me by the affectionate nickname only she ever used. “To keep zose brain cells fuelled up.” She patted me on the cheeks. “So one day you be ze biggest CEO zis city has ever seen.”

  She grinned, and I kissed her again, then dashed off for the bus, never suspecting that would be the last time I would see her face.

  You never expect to lose your mother. And even less when you’re only twenty and just starting to live life and discover everything this incredible, mysterious universe has to offer, with all your dreams of conquering the world still fresh and alive in your breast. Sure as anything that your mother will always be by your side all along the way. You see her as invincible, immortal, and even though your rational mind and common sense tell you that one day she will be gone, like all other people in the world, you just can’t believe it. Or you think it’s something that won’t happen until many decades from now. Maybe as you’re celebrating your own hundredth birthday in the company of all your beautiful grandchildren and great-grandkiddies.

  But certainly not when you’re twenty.

  I didn’t know how I was going to survive without her. I didn’t think I could bring my dreams to life without her. I could remember a time when I couldn’t even imagine going three days without seeing her.

  And now it had been almost thirteen years since the last time I saw her face.

  I curled into a dejected heap on a seat in the deserted subway train. I glanced up, and my sorry reflection stared back at me in the blackened window. Eyes swollen with tears and smudged pathetically with smeary mascara. Stringy hair plastered against the top of my head, trailing wet tendrils across my cheeks. My sodden blazer hanging from me crumpled and shapeless. Yes, I definitely was in the perfect state for seducing my boyfriend after the massive row that other night over the dead cat.

  Calvin was pacing in a frenzy on the sidewalk in front of our building when I arrived, all tender and sensitive romantic geek disguised as Mr. Tough-guy in his black leather jacket and black hiking boots. He grabbed me in his arms with relief and buried me in a desperate hug, ignoring my bedraggled appearance.

  “Thank God you’re both safe,” he cried, gasping. “I thought something terrible had happened to you. An accident... It’s so late. And you weren’t answering your phone.”

  I surrendered myself to his grasp and let him cuddle me against his warm shoulder. Then I realized what he’d said.

  “Both safe, Calvin?” I cried, hysteria starting to rise up in me. “What do you mean, both?”

  Calvin pushed me away and stared at me in surprise.

  “What do you mean, both?” I repeated.

  Glancing around, I suddenly realized that Calvin was alone.

  “Where’s Romeo? Didn’t you pick him up at school?”

  Calvin swayed his head in confusion, started shaking himself like a dog.

  “Of course not. You did!” he exclaimed.

  We looked at each other numbly as horrifying realization began to dawn on us.

  “I didn’t pick him up.” I mouthed the words slowly, feeling all of a sudden as if coarse cotton filled my mouth. “You did. Mrs. Garrison said you did.”

  Calvin shook his head.

  “I never even went near that place.”

  We glanced at each other once more, stupefied. A minute later, Calvin jolted into action, hightailing it around the building to the car park and speeding out in seconds with his potent motorcycle. He paused only long enough for me to leap on behind him.

  I didn’t need to ask what he was doing. We both knew. He careened down Old Forest Hill Road, breaking every speed limit on record, screeching to a stop within minutes in front of Romeo’s school. At this late hour, all the doors were closed except one. I breathed a thanks of immense relief that Mrs. Garrison was holding after-school art classes tonight.

  She eyed us quizzically as we confronted her together.

  “You said Calvin picked Romeo up,” I goaded at her accusingly.

  Mrs. Garrison twiddled on the doorknob in confusion.

  “Calvin, no,” she clarified. “It was his father. His real father.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “That’s impossible.”

  Mrs. Garrison cleared her throat.

  “Well. How do you know?” she snapped. “Just because you’re estranged... Maybe he came back to town without telling you. Maybe he just wanted to spend some time with his son. That’s only natural...”

  She studied my face probingly, her eyes roaming quizzically over my features.

  “No,” I told her firmly. “That’s impossible. Romeo’s father is dead.”

  *

  Mrs. Garrison cleared out a space at one of her art tables and settled us onto the child-sized seats around it.

  “Let’s get it straight here,” she told us, a little desperately, I thought. “You’re sure you’re not lying or making it up or something?”

  I glared at her, bit back something scathing.

  “My son is missing, because of you,” I cried, “and all you can think of to do is to accuse me? Romeo’s father is dead, capish? I saw him die in my own arms. What do you need to believe me, anyways? That I wave a death certificate in front of you? Tell me what happened, right now. Who picked Romeo up?”

  Mrs. Garrison raised her hands beseechingly.

  “I’m not trying to accuse you,” she hastened to explain. “But you don’t know just how many divorcees will claim that their ex is dead just because they hate them so much. When in fact, the ex is locked up in jail, or gallivanting about somewhere in the Seychelles with a new mistress.”

  She gestured towards me.

  “Besides which, you don’t exactly make it easy for me to take you seriously, speaking quite frankly, Ms. Adler.” She lifted her chin self-righteously. “How many times have you arrived late, and I’ve had to put in overtime to look after him – unpaid overtime, I might add. And all because of you. More than once I’ve been tempted to call in Social Services because you seem to practically have your son abandoned here. Sometimes you’re more than even one whole hour late.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Calvin cut in. “That doesn’t make her a liar. Annasuya’s a hard-working single—”

  “Cut the crap.” Mrs. Garrison banged her fist on the table. “I know these negligent types better than you, Calvin. What are you, anyways? Just a swinging bachelor. A childless swinging bachelor.”

  She pointed at me.

  “Look at how your girlfriend deigns to show up here even tonight. You look drunk, Ms. Adler. How do you expect anyone to take you seriously with such a pitiful appearance? Have you checked yourself in the mirror lately?”

  I leapt to my feet and pushed her to one side. I felt like exploding with frustration.

  “I am not drunk! I got caught in the rain, okay?” I screamed, swiping my hands unconsciously over the smeared mascara, although I was sure that was only making me look even worse. “That could happen to anyone. Where’s Romeo? Who took him?” I glared at her. “Who did you let take him away? What happened?”

  “His father,” she reiterated, insistent. “He said he was his father. I had no reason not to believe him. After all, it’s not like you’ve ever given me a whole lot of details about Romeo’s father anyways. Trustworthy details, I mean.”

  She glanced from one to the other of us.

  “So,” she whispered at last. “You’re saying he really is dead, are you? You’re not pulling my leg?”

  “Mrs. Garrison, if you’ve finished with calling Annasuya a liar...” Calvin burst out.

  Mrs. Garrison merely nodded, wordless.

  “So then, who picked Romeo up? Who would possibly want to have anything to do with him?” he said.

  Mrs. Garrison shrug
ged.

  “I’d never seen him before,” she explained defensively. “But he claimed he was Romeo’s father. His real father, I remember he put a lot of emphasize on the word ‘real’. And Romeo’s always said he had no father, but I just assumed that he meant that he had no contact with his father. Not that he literally had no father.”

  “What did he look like?” I asked.

  Mrs. Garrison shrugged again.

  “Ordinary. Normal. A man.” She squinted her eyes. “Brown hair, I think. Or maybe it was black.”

  She looked at us lamely.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not too sure. I didn’t really pay much attention.”

  Calvin glanced around and snorted.

  “And you say you’re an art teacher?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

  Mrs. Garrison held up her hands stiffly.

  “I do the best I can,” she said. “I was probably daydreaming at that moment. That does happen to us artistic, creative types, you know. It’s not that I don’t pay attention, mind you. Sometimes I’m just lost in thought.” She brightened. “Oh, now I do remember. He was very tall. He towered over me. Almost touched the top of the doorframe.”

  Calvin and I exchanged glances. Calvin pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began to flip through images until he found the one he wanted. It was a photo of Lars Herbert posing with Bruno at some sort of inauguration.

  “This the man?” he asked, pointing at Bruno.

  Mrs. Garrison raked her eyes over the image.

  “Yep. That’s the one.” She raised her chin. “I might be a dreamer, but I never forget a face, you know.”

  Calvin began bombarding her with questions.

  “How did he arrive? Did he have a motorcycle? A car? Which direction did he take Romeo in?”

  But Mrs. Garrison only kept shaking her head over and over.

  “I didn’t notice. He picked Romeo up at the door of the classroom. I never went outside with them.”

  “And... and Romeo didn’t say anything? He doesn’t know Bruno,” I ventured. “And how the hell did Bruno find out where Romeo goes to school? Don’t tell me Romeo went willingly with a complete stranger.”

  Mrs. Garrison grimaced.

  “He assured Romeo he was his father. When Romeo told him his father was dead, he said something like, ‘That’s just a convenient story they made up, but it’s not true’, or something of the sort.” She smiled sheepishly. “I admit I wasn’t paying much attention. I see this sort of thing happening in broken families all the time. Lies, deceit, secrets...”

  Blood rushed to my face.

  “I’ve never in my life told a single lie to Romeo!” I screamed.

  Calvin laid his hand over my arm. Mrs. Garrison lifted her hands in truce fashion.

  “I’m not saying you lie, Ms. Adler. I’m just saying I see it a lot. I don’t actually know who’s really lying, and it’s not my job to figure it out.”

  “So...” I gasped out in utter astonishment. “So, you’re saying Romeo actually believed him? He actually just followed him docilely out of the building, like a... like a...”

  Mrs. Garrison nodded her head emphatically.

  “Of course. If he’d raised a fuss about it, I would’ve noticed. Don’t you think, Ms. Adler?”

  I could only gape at her with my mouth open like a fish on land.

  Calvin lugged his phone out of his pocket again and lumbered to his feet with a menacing expression.

  “I think it’s time the police were on this,” he said quietly, and began dialling a number.

  Mrs. Garrison tottered beside him and crushed her finger over his phone. Calvin started, backed away in indignation.

  “No. Wait.” She grasped his arm pleadingly. “Don’t report it yet. Please. Don’t you want to just check and make sure he hasn’t wandered on home by himself? Or maybe someone else you know has him?”

  Calvin sneered.

  “You disgust me,” he said. “You just don’t want to get in trouble with the police or something. After all, it was you who was negligent. You let him walk away with any old man at all. A beggar on the street could’ve come calling, and you would’ve sent Romeo off with him just as happily.”

  Mrs. Garrison opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Calvin began to punch numbers into his phone. I peered over his shoulder and noticed he was calling my landline.

  “Just in case Romeo did decide to go home on his own, after all,” he explained.

  I shook my head.

  “Romeo doesn’t have a key.”

  “That’s not a problem. All the neighbours know him, and they’d let him into the building no prob. And then, after that... well, after that, the building manager would let him into the apartment. Right?”

  I nodded, watching the phone in Calvin’s hand with clenched fists. The phone rang and rang in my apartment, but no one answered it. I nearly jumped to the roof.

  “Hold on, Annie. Wait a minute.” Calvin pressed his palm soothingly against my arm. “Maybe it’s not Bruno. Maybe it’s someone else. Can you think of any other friends, any tall friends—”

  I rushed to the door, felt like stomping my foot.

  “Shut the hell up, Calvin,” I shrieked. “You know damn bloody well it was Bruno as sure as you know the sun sets every day so if you’re not coming with me right this very minute, I’m going to march on over there all by myself.”

  “Coming where?”

  “To Bruno’s house, of course.”

  Calvin strolled to my side.

  “You don’t even know where Bruno lives,” he said. “I am calling the police now.” He glared at Mrs. Garrison. “And I don’t care what anyone says.”

  I plastered my hand over Calvin’s phone and started jumping up and down.

  “That’s a waste of time,” I screamed. “While the police arrive and ask us questions, Bruno could be doing anything to Romeo. Anything at all. By the time they get it straight – and that’s always assuming they even take us seriously, cos you know most of the time the police always suspect the family first. But supposing they even do take us seriously. By the time they get around to investigating Bruno, he’ll be long gone.”

  I grasped the doorframe and started swaying back and forth.

  “So are you taking me to Bruno’s? Or will I have to grab a taxi?”

  Calvin sighed.

  “You don’t even know where Bruno lives,” he repeated.

  I snatched his phone from him impatiently.

  “That’s what the online phone directory is for,” I said, and began calling it up on the internet explorer.

  Bruno Jarvas is an unusual name, but his personal information was unlisted. I almost dashed Calvin’s state-of-the-art iPhone onto the floor. I crumpled to the ground and buried my face against my knees.

  “I don’t know what to do anymore, Calvin,” I whispered.

  I noticed Calvin was flipping through things on his phone in a rush.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Calvin held up his hand.

  “Wait a minute. I’ve thought of something...”

  I waited with as much patience as I could muster. At last Calvin fished something out.

  “Look. A list of all the top guns at Herbert and Mons, and their personal information, including their phone numbers and addresses.”

  He flashed the document at me. I leapt up with a squeal.

  “Where did you get that?” I demanded.

  “Lars gave it to me once. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  I scanned over the document. Immediately Bruno’s address jumped out at me.

  “Come on,” I cried. “What are we waiting for? Bedford Park.”

  Chapter 23

  Bruno’s house lay in darkness. I barrelled about it in the drizzling rain, dashing through the streaming undergrowth, peering in through every window, concentrating especially on the basement ones. There were no lights on anywhere, nothing stirred that I could make out.

  I
approached both the front and back doors and tried the handles. They refused to budge. Bruno’s house was as barred and locked as a maximum security penitentiary. I hammered against the front door with both fists, then dug my keys out of my purse and smashed them against the door as well.

  “Bruno, you fucking bastard, open up!” I shrieked. “Let us in right now or I’ll fucking break your door down.”

  I glanced about, searching for something I could use to pound against the door. Calvin approached, more calm and rational, and began making the rounds, even directing the torch app of his mobile through the windows. He studied every inch of the basement visible from the outside. Finally, he turned towards me and seized me by the elbow.

  “Come on, Annasuya. We’re wasting time here,” he said at last. “It’s clear there’s nothing and no one there.” He gestured towards the house. “Unless Bruno’s got a concealed room or something. But even if he does,” he added as he headed back towards his motorbike, “I doubt he’d be staying there the whole night. If he does have Romeo locked up somewhere, I’m sure he’d only spend short spurts of time with him. No one likes to risk what could happen to them if they hang around a hostage. And I haven’t seen anyone come out of any secret room.”

  He turned towards me.

  “And I’ve pretty much gazed into every room there is on these bottom floors, and there’s no one there.”

  He perched sideways on his motorcycle.

  “Let’s get out of here already, Anna. The house is obviously empty. While we’re hanging around here twiddling our thumbs doing nothing, Bruno’s got him locked up somewhere else. I say we clear out and try and figure out where he could’ve taken him instead.”

  I kicked childishly at the tires of Calvin’s motorcycle.

  “Damn!” I screamed. “Now what? Where the hell could they be?”

  “He wouldn’t risk holding him here in his own house.”

  Calvin’s reasonable tone drove me insane. But I had to admit he was probably right. I grabbed around in my handbag for my mobile.

  “What are you doing?” Calvin asked.

  “What do you fucking think I’m doing? I’m addicted. Whenever I want to know something, I just look it up on my phone.”