After I’ve searched through all the rooms, I’m bathed in sweat. I found precisely three things that I don’t know the origins of: a green USB cable under the bed that I definitely never used and certainly never bought. In one of the chest of drawers there’s a comb, not like the ones women use—black, narrow, and wholly inadequate for long hair like mine. And the final object, crumpled up in a corner of the basement, a gray T-shirt with oil stains on it, most definitely neither my size nor my style.
Nothing specific. In theory, they could all be things left behind by the previous tenant. Except that the house was unfurnished when I took it, so the theory can’t be applied to either the cable or the comb.
I glance over at the kitchen clock. Even though Erik has a lot to do, it won’t be much longer before he comes back. He’ll hurry, no doubt about that. By then I want to have showered and changed.
My glance falls on the knife block again, and I pull out the knife, the one I keep thinking of. The blade shimmers dully, alluringly …
And suddenly an idea comes into my mind, one that makes sense to me but which at the same time is so terrible I almost can’t bear to acknowledge it.
Systematic amnesia, as Dr. Schattauer described it, is unleashed by trauma. One that is probably connected to the person who the consciousness is now blocking out.
This knife, the knife I can’t get out of my head—is it possible that Erik threatened me with it? Or even hurt me? Or held it to my throat while we had sex because fear turns him on? Is that conceivable?
I try to search for a memory, to force something back, but there’s nothing, so I put the knife back into the block and run up the stairs into the bedroom. I undress to my underwear and search my body for injuries. Cuts, scars.
Nothing. Just some bruises, one on my upper arm, two on my left thigh. And a graze on my right knee.
I have no idea where they came from. Probably from the struggles yesterday during my unsuccessful attempts to flee.
A quick glance out of the window. There’s still no sign of the silver Audi. I’ll just have to hurry in the shower.
Normally I can count on the cascading water to clear my thoughts, but normally seems to be a thing of the past. I’m barely under the shower for two minutes before my head starts pounding, as if I were getting the flu. Just what I needed. It was only a lie to explain the client appointments I missed, but now my body seems to think it has to turn the lie into a truth.
I take a deep breath, but the only result is that I feel sick.
Very quickly.
Very intensely.
And then the world goes dark.
12
The headquarters of Gabor Energy Engineering are located a few miles outside the city limits. It takes roughly half an hour before the modern eight-story building appears in front of me. I try to remember the details of my drive here, but in vain. My thoughts were revolving around Joanna the entire time.
My parking permit opens the barrier to the underground parking garage. I park the car, walk the thirty feet to the elevator, swipe my company ID on the reader, go up to the fourth floor. Routine, all of it. If it weren’t for the chaos in my head.
As I exit the elevator, Nadine walks toward me. Nadine, of all people. She stops, raises an eyebrow. “Hi, Erik. Everything OK?”
“Yeah, all good,” I say as complacently as possible. “There was something urgent I had to take care of.”
“Problems?”
“No.” None that I’m going to tell my ex-girlfriend about, at least.
I can see that she doesn’t believe me, but I hope she’ll leave it at that.
“You’re to report to the boss once you’re here.”
Hans-Peter Geiger is the vice president in charge of IT, office administration, and accounting. All in all, he’s a fairly agreeable guy. After the shitty day I had yesterday though, I do wonder what he might want from—
“The Godfather,” Nadine interrupts my train of thought.
The Godfather. That’s what we call G.E.E.’s proprietor and top executive. “Gabor?” I ask incredulously, and feel something tightening in my stomach. Conversations with Gabor tend to veer in directions I don’t find entirely comfortable. He’s a difficult man with strange viewpoints. “Do you know what he wants?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “No. Frau Schultheiss called you at around ten or so. And when she couldn’t reach you she called me. I said you weren’t at work yet and would probably be here a bit later.”
I try not to let on how much it annoys me that everyone turns to Nadine whenever they can’t reach me. The question is whether they only do so because she’s the department secretary, or because we were an item for so long.
“Five minutes after that,” Nadine continues, “she called back and said you should report to Gabor immediately after you arrive.”
Report to Gabor immediately … the tightening in my stomach intensifies. Could it have something to do with me having called in sick today? No, I don’t think so. Gabor has more than a hundred employees; he doesn’t concern himself with such trivial issues. It has to be something else. Well, I guess I’m going to find out very shortly.
In my office, I take a small suitcase out of my closet. My emergency luggage. It’s always there, all packed and ready to go, with all the essentials for last-minute business trips of two or three days’ duration. Toiletries, fresh underwear, socks. There’s also a spare shirt hanging in the closet.
I freshen up a bit in the bathroom next door and put on the shirt. Twenty minutes after arriving at the office, I head to the eighth floor to see Gabor.
As I enter the lobby, Eva Schultheiss looks me over in a way that seems to say she takes personal affront at my turning up here. Does she perhaps know the reason why Gabor has summoned me, I wonder?
“There you are at last,” she says indignantly. “You’ll have to wait, he’s in with someone right now.”
“No problem,” I respond, attempting a smile. I know that falling out of favor with Gabor’s secretary isn’t a smart move.
She reaches for the telephone, announces my arrival, and points toward the two leather armchairs by the opposite wall. “Take a seat.”
I nod and sink into one of the armchairs. Watch Frau Schultheiss tap around on the keyboard, a grave expression on her face.
* * *
Damn it, what the hell’s happening in my life all of a sudden? For two months now I haven’t been able to rid myself of the suspicion that Gabor’s trying to keep me down. And I only got wind of the fact that apparently I’m not even going to be involved in the closing of an important contract, by pure coincidence.
About three months ago, Gabor had been having problems with his private laptop. It had crashed. Instead of informing someone from first-level support, he’d summoned me, the head of the IT department.
It had been a malfunction in the energy saving mode, a minor issue, which had turned off the monitor.
I’d only caught sight of the open email for a few seconds before Gabor quickly closed it. But it was long enough for me to suspect something was going on that I wasn’t meant to know about.
The sender of the email, HvR, had been cryptic, and the subject line had read Phoenix completion.
There hadn’t been much content:
Munich central station, October 18th. 1:10 PM. More details to follow.
Contractual basis: At least 100. Confirmation expected by September 15th.
October 18th. My birthday.
At first I had jokingly asked Gabor if “Phoenix” was the code name for my birthday present. But from his reaction I could clearly see how uncomfortable it was for him that I’d seen this strange email. There could only be one reason for that: Gabor wanted to keep me out of this deal, and there could be no doubt that it was a deal—in fact, with a contractual basis of a hundred stations it was the biggest one G.E.E. had landed yet.
Usually I’m always there when contracts like this are concluded, because every large project presents new
demands on the IT department as well. But, this time, I hadn’t been informed.
* * *
The phone rings, the door opens almost simultaneously, and a man leaves Gabor’s office. He’s old, over eighty for sure. His white, still fairly full hair is meticulously parted, his dark suit perfectly tailored. Bespoke. A cane made out of dark wood is hanging from his crooked right arm.
The man’s eyes sweep over me briefly with the same amount of attention you would accord to a flowerpot standing in front of a wall somewhere.
He nods at Gabor’s secretary, giving a hint of a bow; then he’s already past me and leaving the waiting area.
I look over at Frau Schultheiss, who’s just putting down the phone handset. “You can go in now.”
Seconds later, I enter the enormous office.
There’s an immense floor-to-ceiling window, offering a wonderful view of the woods nearby. Six black leather chairs grouped around a dark wood table form the centerpiece of the room.
Gabor is sitting behind his large, modern desk, smiling at me openly as I approach him. His open laptop is in front of him. “Erik, nice to see you.” He gets up and walks around the desk toward me. That’s unusual. My sense of unease is getting stronger.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestures toward the furniture in the middle of the room. I opt for the chair closest to me.
Gabor crosses his legs and looks at me. In a friendly, but contemplative way. It seems like he’s considering how he should start the conversation.
Just as the silence is beginning to get uncomfortable, he sits up straight and sets his forearms on the desk. “Erik, you know that part of my philosophy is that my coworkers are more than just employees. Their well-being is very close to my heart. It’s not entirely selfless of me, of course, as I know people who are content are more efficient and, most of all, more productive than people with problems.”
There’s that contemplative look again. Four seconds, five … I don’t know how I’m supposed to react, so I simply nod. Is this the part where he drops the bombshell?
“I’m going to come out with it, Erik. Our colleague Morbach called this morning from the airport in London. He was very concerned about an incident at your house yesterday evening.”
So that’s it. Bernhard. How dare he discuss my private affairs with Gabor? This has nothing to do with the company. I have to pull myself together to stifle my anger.
“Oh, that.” I act in a pointedly casual way, even though I’d like nothing more than to jump to my feet. “My significant other, Jo, she was a bit confused yesterday evening. Nothing serious. She’s feeling better already.”
Gabor remains silent. Then he says, “I’m happy to hear that; that puts my mind at ease a bit. It sounded completely different on the phone this morning, though. Morbach said your girlfriend was trying to run away from you, wearing only her bathrobe. He said she didn’t recognize you at all.”
Bernhard, you fucking asshole. “Like I said, Jo was a bit disoriented yesterday. But it’s already worn off. She’s back home now, recovering.”
“All right. But still.” Gabor leans forward even farther, like he’s wanting to tell me a secret. “You’re one of the leaders here in my company. It’s important to me that you’re well in your private life, too. If there’s any way I can help, please do let me know. No matter what type of problem it is.”
“Yes, I will, thank you very much. But I think we’ll manage.”
That look again. “What would you say to a few days’ vacation? Take some time, take care of everything at home and recuperate. Isn’t it your birthday soon? So having some time off work would be well-timed, right.… What do you think?”
“Oh yes, my birthday.” I can’t bite back the comment. “Well, there’ll be a couple reasons to celebrate, right? Though maybe not for me…”
That needed to be said. Because somehow, I have the creeping suspicion he wants me completely out of the picture so I don’t see the contract being concluded at all, and now he’s seizing the first available opportunity. He probably wants to use the time to prepare my severance and appoint my replacement.
“Herr Thieben.” Gabor is now adopting a fatherly tone. “I can tell you’re under a lot of stress. I mean, you don’t usually react like this. You know what? I’ll just give you a week off. With full pay.”
“Thank you, that’s very generous. But I don’t think it’s necessary. I enjoy my work, it’s good for me. I’m going to end up getting frustrated if I just sit around the house all day.”
“All right then, Erik.” Gabor gets up and straightens his tie. I get up too. “I haven’t met your significant other, but do give her my regards. And if you need any help—my door is always open.”
“Thank you,” I say, gripping his hand. Then I start making my way back downstairs. A vacation. If Gabor thinks it’ll be that easy to sideline me, he’s dead wrong.
In my office, I log on to my computer and check my emails. A few appointment requests, messages from external project staff, offers from various companies. The usual. My coworkers in the office next door are all busy; there aren’t any problems. Fortunately, Nadine refrains from asking me in front of all the others about what Gabor wanted.
I answer the most important emails, but find it hard to concentrate. My thoughts keep straying back and forth between Gabor and Joanna. I really want to call her and ask how she’s doing, but I leave it. I don’t want her to think I’m keeping tabs on her.
I still need to go get some clothes. I take the suitcase containing my toiletries and the things I’ve been wearing with me. Roughly an hour later, I have two new pairs of jeans, three polo shirts, and two work shirts. I also buy a couple of three-pair underwear packs and five pairs of dark socks from another store. With all of that, I should be well-equipped for the next few days.
The journey home takes far too long for my liking. The closer I get, with every few feet I drive, the more nervous I get. How’s Joanna doing? Is she even still there? And if so, will she be by herself? Or will there be a couple of policemen waiting for me as well, wanting to find out what the deal is with this bizarre story Joanna’s just told them?
It’s half past five when I park next to the Golf and walk to the front door, my knees shaky.
In the hall, I stop and listen. I can’t hear anything apart from my own pulse.
“Jo?” I don’t know why I’m calling her name out so faintly, so I try it again, louder this time.
“Jo? Are you there?”
Nothing.
She’s actually gone. Despite everything that’s happened, I didn’t really expect she’d actually run away. On foot. Her car is still outside, after all.
The sensation of immense loss starts spreading through me. It feels like it’s draining all my energy. I have difficulty standing upright from one moment to the next; I just want to lie on the ground and stop moving altogether.
But wait—I haven’t looked upstairs yet. Maybe Joanna just went to lie down? With everything she’s going through right now, she must be exhausted.
Without missing a beat, I run to the stairs, take two steps at once. I stop at the top, pause for a moment, then continue as quietly as possible. I don’t want to startle her.
The bedroom door has been left ajar. I carefully give it a push. And in the very same moment I see the empty bed, I also hear a crashing sound. It sounds like it came from the bathroom. Only now do I notice the pattering noise in the background. The shower.
Five swift steps, six. The bathroom door isn’t locked.
A cloud of warm steam billows toward me. The large mirror is all misted up, the plexiglass shower only in parts. Joanna’s contorted figure is lying on the shower floor.
“Jo!” I scream. I jerk open the shower stall door. Water sprays in my face, soaking me through and through in mere seconds. “Oh my God, Jo.”
My movements erratic, I turn off the water and bend down. My hands slip off Joanna’s wet body; I bang my elbow on the edge of the shower. Finally
I manage to pull her up a bit. I look over her body. No visible injuries. Her eyes are closed. I carefully lift her out of the shower, and at the same time realize I’m starting to feel nauseous. My head hurts. What’s happening to me?
My eyes wander through the bathroom. Sink, closet, hot-water boiler … the boiler? I try to stand up, and slip on the wet floor. Finally I manage to push myself up, make it over to the window, and yank it open. Don’t throw up. Not now.
I quickly lean out of the window, take a deep breath, another; then I turn around. I’ve got to get Joanna out of here. I grab her by the hands and drag her across the tiled floor out of the bathroom. Across the hall, into the bedroom. The first thing I do there is open the window; then I heave Joanna onto the bed. Panting, I set my ear onto her chest. She’s breathing. Her breaths are shallow, but she’s breathing. Thank goodness.
I want to collapse down next to her on the bed, but I need to go back into the bathroom first. I hold my breath as I close the gas valve on the boiler.
I stagger back into the bedroom, needing to brace myself against the wall in the hall as I go. Then I fall onto the bed next to Joanna. What should I do now? I have to call an ambulance. Arduously I push myself up to go look for the telephone.
At that moment, another thought hits me. The boiler in the bathroom. It was serviced just three weeks ago. And now it might have almost killed Joanna.
How is that possible?
13
Light.
A wall. A window. Out of focus. It’s hard to keep my eyes open.
Too hard.
Someone touches my shoulder. Shakes me.
“Jo! Don’t fall asleep again! Stay awake, OK? Look at me!”
A dark silhouette over me. A face. A stranger’s face.
Strangers Page 8
