Strangers

by Ursula Archer

  7

  I run like I’ve never run before, not because of panic, but because the sensation of my regained freedom spurs me on with every step I take. The first street on the right, then the next left. A glance over my shoulder—no, he’s not following me, but I keep running regardless. I’ve been given a chance, and there’s no way I’m going to let it slip through my fingers.

  Only once I’m gasping for air do I stop in a doorway to catch my breath. I ignore the surprised glances of two stroller-pushing mothers walking past. I’m not far from the pedestrian zone, and there’s a police station up ahead on the corner. My hand is already on the door handle before it occurs to me that I can’t provide any ID. My papers, my visa—everything’s in the house, and I don’t have the key anymore. That’s the first obstacle.

  The other is how hurt Erik had looked before, when he spoke about his dead parents. As hard as I had tried to fight it, his disappointed gaze had moved me.

  Of course I’m still going to report him, though; I don’t have a choice. If I want my life back, then he needs to disappear from it.

  But I want to have someone here with me who can confirm my story.

  The knowledge of how easy this would be if I just had my phone with me almost makes me storm angrily into the police station anyway. Soon, I reassure myself. A few minutes won’t make a difference, and the hospital where Ela works is just over a mile away at most.

  I set off, taking care to avoid the main streets, but still give a start every time a silver car comes into view.

  Would Erik grab me on the street and pull me into his car in broad daylight? Is that plausible?

  He would have to be very sure of himself if he did, because of course I would call for help. And resist him with all my strength.

  Does he have an ace up his sleeve that would allow him to take the risk?

  At the end of the street, the hospital comes into view, towering over all the buildings in the vicinity.

  Five minutes later, I find out that my detour was in vain. Ela was on the night shift and went home at seven this morning, the laboratory secretary informs me. The disappointment, paired with the stress of the past twelve hours, pushes tears to my eyes.

  “Has something happened? Can I help you?” The secretary’s sympathy only makes it worse. I silently shake my head, refuse the glass of water she offers me, and turn around.

  Only once I’m already outside again do I realize how stupid I’ve been. I won’t get another opportunity as good as that to call Ela, considering that I don’t know her number by heart. The secretary would have had it, and she probably would have given it to me too if I’d gone about things the right way.

  But maybe Ela already went to bed hours ago and put her phone on silent.

  When it comes to the doorbell, though, she’ll definitely hear that.

  Normally I’d never wake her up, but this is an emergency.

  I have to cross the entire city to get to her apartment. I don’t have a single cent in my bag, no credit card, nothing. I can’t even afford to get the bus, let alone a taxi. The irony of the situation is striking, given that I could easily buy the entire bus company if I had access to my fortune right now.

  So I’ll just have to risk riding without a ticket. The bus that goes out to where Ela lives is just pulling in as I get to the bus stop in front of the hospital. Just a coincidence, of course, but it brightens my mood a little. Perhaps things are finally turning in my favor.

  It’s a twenty-five-minute journey. I lean my forehead against the window of the bus and gaze out. What if Ela didn’t go back to her place after work? What if she decided to stay over at Richard’s, despite their constant fights?

  That’s unlikely. He has to be at the office, so they wouldn’t have been able to grab any time together.

  Nonetheless, I’m incredibly nervous by the time I get off the bus, and even more so once I’m standing in front of Ela’s front door.

  What will I do if she doesn’t answer? What other options do I have? The police, OK. That’s my last trump card. But it’s one I don’t feel ready to play, not without support.

  Hesitating here won’t help anything. I ring Ela’s doorbell for ten, fifteen seconds.

  When she answers the intercom, she sounds wide awake. Luckily.

  “Yes? Who’s there?”

  “It’s me. Joanna.” My voice trembles with relief. “Can I come in, please?”

  The door release buzzes; I push the door open, step inside, and close it behind me again. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I run up the three floors to Ela’s apartment.

  She’s standing in the doorway wearing jogging pants and a sweatshirt. Her dark locks are tied up into a ponytail, and her expression is confused and questioning.

  “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this.” I give her a quick hug and can smell soap. She must have just showered. “I would have called you, but … I couldn’t.”

  “Come in.” She pulls me into the apartment. “How about a coffee? You look like you need one.”

  “No. Thank you.” I’m so happy to see her. Her level-headed manner alone is already calming me down.

  In the living room, she gently presses me down onto the couch, sits next to me, and takes my hand. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  I begin, hesitantly at first, but soon the words are just flowing. The strange man in my house who claims his name is Erik and that he’s engaged to me; the night I spent imprisoned within my own four walls; my escape.

  Ela doesn’t interrupt me a single time, but here and there she widens her eyes with disbelief; a deep wrinkle has appeared above her nose.

  “That’s … unbelievable,” she murmurs once I’ve finished. “Give me a couple of minutes to digest it, OK?” She shakes her head, then suddenly pauses. “Oh damn it, I almost forgot.” She reaches for her phone and dials a number.

  “A colleague,” she murmurs apologetically. “I was a bit scatterbrained with the … Hello, Sandra?”

  I already know that Ela is very laid-back, at least when it’s not about Richard, but the way she’s responding to my story astonishes me nonetheless. As does the fact that right now, of all moments, something to do with her colleague should pop into her mind.

  “Sandra, sorry, I completely forgot to tell you on the handover that the technician is coming to see to the centrifuge this morning. What? Yes, that would be good. OK. Yes. I’ll do that. See you then.” Ella puts her phone away. “Done.” She rubs both hands over her face. “Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?”

  It’s starting to become difficult to hide my impatience. “No, I want to go to the police, and I was hoping you’d come with me.”

  Ela stares fixedly at the carpet beneath her feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jo.”

  I feel a cold tingling at the back of my neck. “Why not?”

  She looks up and makes eye contact again. “Because what you’ve just told me doesn’t make any sense. You and Erik, you are a couple. And a damn good one too.”

  The cold feeling has suddenly spread through my entire body. Please don’t, I want to say, please don’t do this to me.

  “I swear to you, last night was the first time I ever saw that man in my whole life,” I whisper, seeing in Ela’s eyes how uncomfortable this situation is for her. “I live alone, you of all people would know that—you’ve been over to my place so often! There’s no one in my life apart from Matthew, and even he’s ancient history now, really.”

  Ela straightens her ponytail. A gesture of self-consciousness. “You haven’t mentioned Matthew for months.”

  “I know, why would I? I’m content by myself. I love the fact that I’m standing on my own two feet; my job is wonderful; everything is great. Or at least it was until yesterday.”

  Something twitches in Ela’s face. She takes my hand, which feels icy cold against hers. “Listen. I have a suggestion. Instead of going to the police, we’ll go to a doctor. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. I know a real
ly nice neurologist at the clinic.…”

  My eyes burn. I pull my hand away so I can wipe the tears before they run down my face. “You think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” Even just saying the word was hard. Because that’s turned it into a real possibility. Crazy. Or perhaps seriously ill; who knows what kind of damage brain tumors could unleash—

  I instinctively reach up to touch my head. Please no, don’t let it be that.

  No. Of course not, it’s nonsense. I’m fine, I don’t have any problems with my vision, no headaches, no dizziness. Just one person too many in my life.

  Ela gently strokes my arm. “Try to remember. Do you still know when and where the two of us met?”

  Of course I do, I don’t have to think about it for even a second. “At Lorenzo’s, at the bar. You stood next to me while we were waiting for our drinks. I ordered a caipirinha, you got a mojito, and you said you liked the look of the barman.”

  Ela bites down on her lower lip, nodding at almost every one of my words. “That’s all true, except that it was the second time we met. The first time was at the squash club—Erik and I were playing, you came to pick him up, and he introduced me to you.” She smiles, and her expression looks both tense and reassuring at the same time. “Do you remember? You guys had only been together two weeks and you were so crazy about each other it was almost too much to watch.” She looks down at her hands, interlaced on her lap. “You still are, to be honest. You love him, Jo. Very much.” Our eyes meet. “You can’t have forgotten him, surely.”

  By now I can barely breathe. I picture the face of the stranger, the man who I supposedly love. I feel nothing, nothing but the nagging fear which his presence provokes in me.

  Ela is still looking at me, her expression full of sympathy. My God, what would she stand to gain by lying to me like this?

  I press my fingertips against my closed eyelids until it hurts.

  Think. If what she says is true …

  “Prove it,” I whisper, suppressing the panic rising up inside me. What if she can? What if I have to accept that there’s something seriously wrong with me?

  She thinks for a moment, then nods. She stands up and goes over to a little table with a laptop on it. “I have some photos saved on here, we can both—”

  The penetrating buzz of the doorbell interrupts her midsentence, and she whirls around. Now her expression is a mix of relief and guilt.

  It takes me a moment to catch on. But then I do. “You called him.” My mouth is so dry I can barely form the words. “I’m here telling you how relieved I am to have gotten away from him, and you bring him here to me?”

  She looks sad, but I probably can’t believe that any more than I could the supposed telephone call to her colleague.

  “He’s so worried about you,” she says softly. “Look, perhaps the three of us can manage to figure this out.”

  She’s already halfway to the door, but turns around one more time. “I want to help you, Jo, you have to believe me.”

  Please don’t do it, I want to say, please don’t let him in, please hide me from him.

  But she has already pressed the door release button.

  8

  The door unlatches with a sharp clack. Ela opened up for me without any questions. I enter the elevator, even though I hate tight spaces.

  Thoughts are tumbling over one another in my head. Hopefully Joanna’s still up there. Does she know it was me who just talked to Ela on the phone and rang the doorbell? And what will be in store for me when I come face-to-face with her again?

  I told Ela not to let her leave again at any cost. Was she able to convince Joanna that it’s better for her not to run away from me? That she urgently needs to get help?

  What in the hell has happened to her? I mean, she can remember everything else in her life. Like Ela, whom she met through me. How has Joanna’s mind managed to make sense of this friendship without me having been part of it?

  Or maybe her head is perfectly fine and she’s just playacting? But why would she? That doesn’t make any sense.

  The elevator stops, and its doors open up onto the third floor.

  My heart beats faster with every step I take, and starts racing as the door to Ela’s apartment swings inward. Ela looks concerned.

  “Is she still here?”

  The pounding of my heart has become deafening now.

  Ela nods and blinks briefly before stepping aside and letting me enter.

  As I step into the small living room, Joanna jumps up and rubs her palms on her thighs. She always does that when she’s nervous or very angry.

  She’s so beautiful. Even in this strange situation.

  “Jo, I…” I start, but she raises her hands defensively and emphatically shakes her head.

  “No, stop. I don’t want to hear the same story again, about how we know each other and even live together. It doesn’t matter how often you repeat it, it doesn’t change anything. I don’t know you.”

  There’s that punch to the gut again.

  During the night I had a kind of memory of you. It was very brief and fuzzy. Those were her words. And I, foolish as I am, gladly clung to them, like a child being told that Santa Claus exists. She lied to me just so she could escape.

  “So then you didn’t really remember me last night?” A superfluous, naïve question.

  Joanna laughs briefly, with no trace of humor. “Of course not. I can’t remember you because I don’t know you. Whatever you have planned—it’s not going to work. So you can just stop, right now.”

  She looks past me, and the expression on her face changes. “This man, whoever he is, must have his own selfish reasons for doing all of this. But you, Ela, helping him … How much did he promise you in return for playing along with his little psycho game? What’s the going rate for betraying your best friend?” Joanna’s eyes suddenly grow wide. “Wait … Or did this friendship never really exist from the beginning? Was it part of your plan as well? Just so there would be somebody who can confirm this insane story? Is that how it is, Ela?”

  “Jo … You can’t honestly be thinking that…” Ela paces a few steps past me and sinks down into one of the blue armchairs. She flips open her laptop and starts tapping away on it. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I can prove that you and Erik are a couple. I have some photos of the two of you right here. Hang on…”

  Photos, of course. Once again, hope wells up inside me that some sort of trigger will allow Joanna to regain her memories of me.

  “You emailed me about a hundred photos just from your vacation last month on Antigua alone,” Ela explains, furrowing her brow.

  “Photos can be doctored,” Joanna remarks snidely.

  Ela pauses what she’s doing and looks up at Joanna. “But you’re a photographer. That means you have an eye for identifying whether a photo’s fake or not, doesn’t it?” Not for the first time, I find myself admiring Ela for how calm she is when dealing with difficult situations. Despite the fact that her best friend obviously has a serious psychological problem.

  One last click, then she turns the computer around. “Look, Jo. Does this look doctored to you?”

  Joanna looks over at the screen. She moves closer, leans over, wrinkles her brow. Stays silent. For three seconds, five, ten…?

  I can’t take it any longer. I stride over to Joanna’s side and look at the photo. It’s not one of our vacation photos, but I recognize it right away. Ela took it not too long ago. We had been celebrating her birthday, right here in her living room. Two of her coworkers from the hospital had been here, and another couple who I don’t know. Ela had managed to get all of us together on the photo, and Joanna and I are pictured right in the middle. Not that I know a lot about doctoring photos, but I think it would be pretty difficult, if not impossible, with an image like this one. One of Ela’s coworkers is blocking a part of Joanna, and I’m sitting on the other side of her. I have my arm around her shoulders. We’re both in high spirits, laughing into the camera.
>
  The lighting conditions, the shadows … everything fits. I look at Joanna. Wait for a reaction. Eventually she stands up. She must have noticed that I’m looking at her, but she ignores me and looks at Ela.

  “It’s very well done.”

  “What?” Ela gives me an uncomprehending look.

  “The doctored photo. Must have been made by a pro. I can’t see any edges.”

  “Christ, Jo!” I say, louder than I’d intended. She flinches and retreats from me. “I’m sorry. But this whole situation’s enough to drive a man insane, it really is! At some point you’ll have to at least consider the possibility that we’re telling the truth here. You can’t go and dismiss everything as being lies or falsification just because it doesn’t fit in with your version of the truth.”

  I look at the photo again, at the two young women who work with Ela in the hospital. An idea crosses my mind, to suggest to Joanna that we should find these women and get them to confirm the photo’s real, that we were all at this birthday party together. But I decide I’d better leave it. She’d just sweep it aside by arguing that those two are in cahoots with me as well.

  Damn it.

  The vacation we spent together, though; surely Joanna can’t have forgotten that. “You really don’t remember Antigua? There should be tons of photos on your camera.”

  Joanna’s mouth curls into a sneer. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Jo.” Ela puts the laptop to one side and gets up out of the armchair. “Come on, think about all the things we’ve done together. The wonderful conversations we’ve had. You know so much about me, and I know so much about you. You really think all of that’s just one big lie? Is that what you believe?”

  I see a hint of uncertainty in Joanna’s expression. She looks at the floor. “I don’t know.” All the aggression has suddenly left her voice; it sounds quiet and thin now. As she looks over at Ela, I can see a moist sheen in her eyes. “I want to believe you, I do. But that means I also have to believe the things this man is saying, and I can’t do that. Don’t you understand?”

  I’m nearly overcome by the powerful urge to take Joanna into my arms, press her against me, stroke her hair, and tell her everything’s going to be all right.