by Ian Fox
John opened his eyes wide, spurred by a great idea. It threw him out of bed like a cannonball. In three seconds flat he had his shoes on and was running down the stairs. Where have I put that damn car key? His eyes scanned the house like a laser. Oh, I remember. In the pocket of my leather jacket.
He ran back to his room, skipping several stairs at a time.
When the car keys were in his hand, he breathed a sigh of relief. He ran out of the house without closing the front door and got in his car. Impatiently he turned the key and pressed on the gas pedal as soon as the engine was on.
His erratic path threw the rear of the car left and right. John was gripping the steering wheel firmly and driving over thirty miles an hour along the rough forest road. I hope she’s still alive… I hope she’s still alive… he repeated.
Chapter 4
_______________________
In the morning the streets were foggy and deserted when Robert Miles drove to News Continental, his workplace for the last eight years. It was half past five. He hadn’t been able to sleep and decided to get to work earlier than usual.
Robert had just begun to make a mark as a journalist. More and more often people would call and ask for him. He was praised for writing realistically and not wasting words.
As he walked through the doorway of his office, he was surprised to see a light in the editor in chief’s office. He walked over and said, “Good morning.”
“Oh, Robert. What brings you here so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep and decided to do something useful rather than toss in bed until seven.”
“Very commendable. Grab yourself some coffee.”
“Of course, thanks.”
The editor watched him leave and then already deep in thought, the editor stroked his bushy mustache and thick gray hair.
*
Three hours later the editor opened a meeting by saying: “The police have announced some shocking news that will shake up quite a number of our readers. It’s about the businesswoman Emely Donnovan, who has disappeared for reasons unknown. Initially they thought she had been kidnapped, but it has since transpired that she has simply disappeared. The only trace left is her sports car that was found by the side of the highway.”
The name seemed familiar to them all, but no one wanted to show himself up by asking about her.
The editor, as if reading their minds, said, “So far not much has been written about her. Just the odd piece here and there. She came from a very poor family—perhaps even from a foster home—can’t remember exactly. What’s interesting is that she established a small company that within a very short period of time grew into a huge corporation.”
He picked up a pint-sized glass filled with water. After he had taken three long sips, he said, “This is a unique opportunity. Miles, can you do a piece on Emely Donnovan? I seem to remember you went to Donnovan Corporation not long ago, trying to persuade them to invest in a promotional piece. Am I wrong?”
Robert could not believe his ears. Had he really heard his name mentioned? Can it be possible that he’s asking me to write such an important piece?
His colleagues looked at him with envy.
“Something short about her disappearance. That’s just for today. In the next few days I expect a more extensive piece about her life. Something no one else has written before. Are you up to it?”
“Of course, don’t you worry, sir.” Robert bit his bottom lip. He felt like leaving the meeting immediately to research the woman’s past. He knew the article would engross him so much that he’d have no time to sleep.
“OK, that’s that, so we can move on. O’Brian, you’ll do that piece on spiritual relaxation …”
While the editor was talking, Miles could already see the front page of the newspaper with the headline: THE SHOCKING LIFE OF EMELY DONNOVAN.
And if perhaps her life wasn’t shocking, I’ll write the story in such a way that people will think it was. Everyone reading it will never forget Emely Donnovan. And my name will be there. A pleasant tingle went through him. He continued biting his lip, daydreaming.
Chapter 5
_______________________
John paid no attention to his speed. The car suspension was complaining as he drove over dips and potholes of varying sizes. So many branches had hit the windshield that he had the feeling it would break at any moment. He gripped the steering wheel hard, leaning forward for a better view. He had already been driving for over half an hour and panic was setting in. Where did we bury her?
He could remember the spot and could have described it in detail. All those mighty pine trees standing around like witnesses watching the horrible crime they’d committed. He’d never forget them. But what John couldn’t remember was the route. The road was winding and crisscrossed with others. He could only hope that he was driving along the right one. Earlier, Ronald had been at the wheel and it was dark. Who knows if I’ll even be able to find that heap of earth?
Thick drops of sweat ran down his forehead, into his eyes that were hurting as he had been straining them for half an hour already, trying not to miss any little detail that could lead him to her. I hope she’s still alive. A heavy weight lay in his stomach like a rock.
John had a feeling he was going the right way, but the biggest spruce that he remembered especially well was nowhere to be seen. Tall as two houses put together, at least fifty feet, it stood there like a monument.
He looked at his watch. Almost eight. Oh no, how long can a person survive in such a confined space with little oxygen?
He pressed even harder on the gas pedal. Because of the bumps he was thrown in the air a few times and the engine roared as the wheels spun in midair. John took no notice and kept his foot down.
For one moment he lost control of the vehicle. The front wheels hit a tree root and the vehicle bounced up, rolled onto its left side, and slid along for over ten yards. The side windows shattered.
As if nothing had happened, John climbed out through the right side window that was now above him. He could feel a pain in his forehead where it had smashed against the windshield.
He stood there for a while, holding his head, and then pushed against the car with all his might in the hopes of turning it back onto its wheels. He exerted so much pressure that he felt his head would split open. The vehicle moved slightly but not enough to reach the point where it would tip over and right itself.
Trying again, John shouted as he pushed, feeling his intestines were being ripped from his gut. All in vain, he’d failed. Out of sheer rage he slammed his foot against the ground.
“Damn it! Let it all go to hell,” he screamed at the car.
He put his hand to his head and it came away covered red. He felt the deep wound above his right eye, but waved his hand as if to indicate it didn’t matter.
He ran on, thinking he must be close.
He looked at one of the bushes. It can’t be true.
The shape of the bush was exactly like the one he could remember. At a certain angle it reminded him of a huge bear on its hind legs. This is the right way, he thought. It’s only about five hundred yards now.
He ran on as if chased by a bear. The closer he got, the more familiar things became.
Finally he stopped. The thin tree to which they had tied Emely stood before him. Its leaves prevented the morning sun from reaching the ground. All around there were those tall pine trees staring at him like numb living beings.
For a moment it seemed pointless and he wanted to run far away and never come back. This place is cursed.
He stood perfectly still, staring at the spot where she lay. Then he squatted down like a believer in front of a church altar. His knees sank deep into the soft soil and only then did he become aware of what he had come for. He quickly dug his fingers into the soil and began pushing it away in all directions.
“Hold on a bit longer, you bitch, just a bit longer,” he said.
*
He was digging like a mole, with
his hands. Why did we have to bury her so deep? It was his damn idea. That fat bastard. For more than ten minutes he was scratching around in panic, feeling he’d never get to her. How could I have forgotten to take a shovel?
His hands were digging so fast that sweat poured from his forehead and his T-shirt was soaking wet. As if running a marathon, he became short of breath. Oh no, he thought, she must be running out of oxygen and maybe it’ll be too late. Maybe there’s no helping her.
He dug even faster. “Not long now, Emely,” he said, hoping she could hear him.
A sudden burning pain in his hands meant he must have hit a sharp stone or something similar. It didn’t matter because his pain was nothing in comparison to the suffering she must be going through. He kept going, spitting out the soil that occasionally flew into his mouth.
He had nearly run out of strength when his nails finally touched the rough wooden surface of the coffin.
With bleeding hands he removed the last remnants of soil from next to the coffin’s edge that was stopping him from opening it. Hysterically he grabbed the planks, trying to force them open. It was horrible. He was nearly there, but the coffin lid would not budge.
“Damn fatso!” he swore. “He nailed down the top of the coffin.”
He got up and took a few breaths to calm himself. With a dirty hand he wiped the sweat off his forehead. John felt along the edges of the coffin, looking for the fastenings. He had to dig more soil out to get to them. Finally he made it. Then he jumped out of the grave.
He lay down so that the upper part of his body was over the edge of the grave and he was able to get hold of the top of the coffin. It kept sticking for a while, until it finally came open. Nervously, he lifted it off slowly and looked at Emely’s dirty face. He stared at her for a while, then gulped, and carefully stepped in. Gently he lifted her out of the coffin and laid her on the ground a few yards away.
Her skin was alabaster. There was no sign of life. Hesitantly he touched the vein on her neck with his left hand, hoping to feel a pulse. “Damn it, she’s dead.”
He swiftly moved his hand away as if she were red-hot. Jumping back, John grimaced with disgust, thinking, I have to bury her again right now.
He put his hand on his mouth because the contents of his stomach were beginning to rise. He couldn’t bear to look at the dead body. Without thinking, he bent over her, lifted her, and carried her back to the grave. Before putting her in, he had to drop her on the ground because the pressure in his stomach became too much.
He ran a few feet away and, bending over, vomited spasmodically. Tears streamed out of his eyes from the straining. He wiped his face on his sleeve and returned to the body. The thought of having to lift her again repelled him.
“What?” He wasn’t sure whether he had only imagined it or really did see a finger on her right hand move. Frozen with astonishment he stared at her with his mouth open. He came closer, wanting to touch her but at the thought that perhaps she really was dead, he couldn’t do it.
I just imagined it. It’s impossible that she’s still alive, he told himself with a slight smile that soon vanished. He bent over to lift her, but something kept stopping him from touching her. Not knowing what to do, he stared at her and kept swallowing saliva.
He looked at her abdomen. He had a feeling it was moving but couldn’t believe it. Maybe she really is breathing. Gathering his courage, he moved closer. As if she were contagious, he touched her carefully … only to feel a slight twitch in her finger. A shallow exhalation came from her mouth.
“Emely!” he shouted in joy, and put her hand into his. In spite of her dirty face he suddenly found her unbelievably beautiful.
Another twitch in her finger. Now he was certain there was still life in her. He kissed her forehead, face, and her lips. Then he hugged her. “The bitch is alive, she’s alive.”
Chapter 6
_______________________
Two days after Emely’s disappearance, there was still no trace of her. No one called, no one demanded a ransom. Everyone at Donnovan Corporation was getting increasingly concerned.
At a meeting late in the afternoon, Blake Crouse said, “I think it’s time we told the public about her disappearance. Some newspapers have already written about it. We’ve waited to make a statement, but I think there’s no point anymore.”
“Shouldn’t we wait a little longer?” Alexandra asked, arranging her black hair that was reflecting sunlight.
“No. I spoke to Inspector Benotti and she confirmed my conclusion that something serious must have happened to Emely. It’s not a kidnapping. If it was, they would’ve already asked for money.”
“What else could have happened?” Tim Guan, the human resources manager, said. He was an older man with timid eyes and thin lips.
“I don’t know,” Blake said, putting both hands on the table and looking down.
“Perhaps she’s lost her memory?”
“Perhaps, but in any case it would make sense to inform the public. That way we could maybe get some information about her.”
Alexandra said, “What if it’s murder?”
Everyone in the meeting room stirred and expressed their indignation over such a question.
“We can’t exclude the possibility,” Blake said, first nodding at Alexandra and then looking around at the board members. “I put the same question to the police. They told me that any conclusions were premature. For now, they have no evidence. It’s as if she’s vanished off the face of the earth. That’s why we’ve been asked to inform the public. They might be able to provide important information, tips. For example, they don’t know what happened on the highway where her car was found.”
The excitement had not yet died down. People were whispering questions and comments to each other.
Guan said, “Who could have done it?”
“Listen, no one is saying it’s murder. Don’t jump to conclusions. There are other possibilities.”
Everyone turned their attention to Blake.
“Inspector Benotti explained to us that sometimes rich people simply disappear. They decide to commit suicide, in a way.”
“What?” Alexandra said.
“Not in the normal sense of the word. People are alive, but disappear from their normal life.” Blake watched the surprised faces. “I see I’ve made things too complicated. Perhaps Emely wasn’t happy. Maybe she was fed up with the life she had. Maybe she wanted a change.”
“And she simply disappeared?” Alexandra said.
Guan asked, “But why would she do something like that?”
“It’s hard to say. It’s an escape into the unknown. Maybe Emely wanted a normal life.”
More noise erupted in the meeting room.
Blake said, “Listen, we can make all sorts of assumptions, but there’s no point. Who’s in favor of going public?”
A majority raised a hand.
“Good. I’ll tell the police that we’re ready to make a public appeal.”
Alexandra thought, It’s a mistake.
*
At noon, Blake Crouse went to a Chinese restaurant to satisfy his growling stomach. He chose that restaurant not for its food but because he hoped to be completely alone to think it all through. How could this have happened?
He parked his Cadillac, the latest model, not far from the park and then set off on foot toward some restaurants. Where is all this going to lead? How can I run the company without Emely?
Whenever he had previously taken on this role it was always for a limited time. It happened rarely, usually when Emely was on vacation. But all the important decisions were still made by her. If there were problems, all he had to do was pick up the phone. It was different now. The entire burden of running the company lay on his shoulders and he would not be able to put off dealing with the bigger issues indefinitely. Even though he was ambitious, being right at the top didn’t suit him. Managing the legal department was the highest he wanted to go. He was of the opinion that being a CEO was
something you were born for. Not everyone could do it. Emely, what’s happening with you? Come back.
He had known her since she was a little girl. Who would have thought then that she would become one of the country’s most capable businesswomen. He had just finished law school and was working as a young lawyer at the Chicago District Court. A horrific accident had happened and little Emely had become an orphan. He was in charge of resolving all the bureaucratic problems connected with putting her in a foster home. He remembered the sad story of her mother’s death.
*
In St. Martin’s Hospital, in the center of Portland, the staff were in a state of controlled panic. There had been a huge explosion in a dye factory only fifteen miles away. Just twenty-six minutes later, over forty people suffering from severe burns were brought in. It was ten o’clock in the morning.
All the staff off duty that morning had come in to help. Nurses were running along the long corridors and it was tough for the doctors to decide which patient was in a worse condition and should get priority.
“Doctor, this woman needs help urgently!” a nurse shouted over the unbearable noise. Badly burned patients were moaning and the nurses were comforting them as best they could.
The doctor quickly examined the pregnant woman the nurse had pointed out. The skin practically all over her body was blistering. He couldn’t decide whether to treat the woman or stay with a man who was barely breathing. In the end, he went to the woman and checked her pulse. Then he quickly ran to the nurses’ station. “I need an operating theatre now!”
The nurse looked at the computer screen. “Sorry, but they’re all occupied.”
