The Woman Hidden

by Lucas Mattias

  Clarice. Her name was Clarice.

  The moment could have lingered for a while more, he could have kept on observing her, learning her, trying to glue the pieces together with her, but the sound of heavy wheels on the gravel caught Jason’s attention, a sound coming from the other side of the house, the front yard. There was someone there.

  He stretched his neck and, through the glass wall, from where he had a clear sight of the kitchen, he could also see the living room, the stairs and the front door. The opposite wall there was also glass made, so he could spot it. It was the Sheriff’s car. He looked back at Clarice, no visible expressions.

  The scent in the air, that smooth and fresh pine odor mixed to the one of Clarice dissipated into the air when she seemed more alarmed than she should have been.

  “It’s just the Sheriff. He’s a family friend.”

  “Don’t tell him I’m here.”

  Jason straightened up, cocking his head back. Being in that situation, shouldn’t she be willing to have as much help as possible? What if her memory… well, that wouldn’t be too invasive to ask.

  “Clarice… I trust him.”

  “I know it’s a strange request and, perhaps, it would be wrong of me to ask you this, but… please. I… I don’t want to be dragged to a precinct and have to answer questions to which I do not know the answers.”

  “He… he could have some answers to your questions.”

  “Just listen to me and, please, do not tell him I’m here. I’m begging you.”

  Again, she seemed distressed, almost the same way she had shown before with all the shock from receiving too many surprising revelations in the same day.

  “It’s ok. I’ll be right back.”

  It was obvious that not having answers or further information to substantiate that request had gotten Jason quite annoyed. He took a deep breath and stood up, making his way into the house. He crossed the double-glass doors and the kitchen, all the time wondering if it would be prudent to lie to the Sheriff, an old friend and support to that shattered family in oh so many times. Well, it also wouldn’t be the first lie anyway.

  As he got to the living room, he confirmed who it was. The lean and tall figure of the Sheriff on top of his middle-fifties was at his door that offered little to no protection from outside eyes. The walls from the cabin’s ground floor were almost completely glass made, so it was easy to spot who was coming in or already in the house all the time. He glanced back for a second, looking for the terrace where he had been, and he didn’t see Clarice. Maybe an illusion?

  As he got to the entrance, he pushed the pivot door, opening a tiresome smile to the Sheriff.

  “Flyce!”, the Sheriff smiled, offering his hand to the host.

  “Sheriff Aubry.”

  The two greeted each other cordially, as the old buds they were, but Jason could see something was bothering the old man. Maybe the near retirement or just some uncommonly common happening in the area, such as someone killed in an accident while hunting or skiing. Or maybe it was Marco, who hadn’t returned yet.

  “Is it all right, Sheriff?”

  “Yeah, yeah… all good, Flyce. All good.”

  Jason offered some space so the man could enter the house, but the Sheriff didn’t move, hand shoved inside the pockets of his heavy snow parka.

  “A snowstorm is coming, Flyce.”

  Jason, then, leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and observing the weak Sheriff. In other times, some years ago, it was possible that the man could have been vigorous, stiff, the epicenter of earthquakes in the region, but today he was merely one of those figures you barely see in family meetings, a stray uncle. Jason and the Sheriff had a past, nothing too far ago, but bonds that made them much closer in the last few years, bonds of which they preferred not to talk so frequently about. Those bonds, however, were the reason Jason could feel something was bothering the man and, considering the last crimes in the region could be summarized in the accidental death of a car and the mysterious disappearance of wood from the Laywood’s cabin, Jason could only imagine that the subject would somehow involve the stranger hidden somewhere in his house.

  “Aubry, I know you only call me ‘Flyce’ when the subject is tough.”

  The Sheriff inhaled deeply and moistened his lips, also striking the edges of his mustache. The beard already showed signs of a necessary trim to come, but it was not Jason’s place to comment on that.

  “Things are getting strange around here, Jason.”

  “Nothing related to, hm...”

  “No,” he quickly cut Jason. “From what I see, there was an attack, shots fired and else, in a high class cabin up the hill. Folks saying wife and husband are missing… have you heard anything at all? It was rather near.”

  Jason held his breath back a little, unsure on how to react. The most prudent of him would be to tell the Sheriff about the woman he had found with Marco, about her amnesia and the phobia of being found, but… what if the problem was even more intricate than it seemed? Shots fired, husband and wife missing. If Clarice were the wife, it was possible that her fear was even more urgent than Jason had figured. Many doubts were boiling in his brains and the Sheriff’s presence, facing him with those inquisitive eyes did nothing to help with his cognition.

  “No,” he replied, trying to sound precise. “I haven’t heard a thing. Marco and I went out on a hunt yesterday and came back late, but nothing called our attention. Could you tell me precisely where?”

  “Unfortunately, you know I cannot share the information, but the damn thing was shit on the fan. Seems like husband tried to kill wife, who tried to escape and, by the looks of it, she got it.”

  “At least you’ve got witnesses.”

  “CCTV. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

  “What about the husband?”, his spine froze. Trying to correct his mistake before it was noticed, he completed the idea: “And the wife, of course. Nothing?”

  “Nada. They both could be playing hide and seek on the woods, from what I see. Or maybe they are both dead. Maybe he killed the wife and is trying to cross the borders… So far, that’s what we’ve got.”

  “Well, thanks for the warning.”

  “Watch out, Jason. These remote areas are easy target and it didn’t happen that far from here.”

  “I’ll keep one eye open, Aubry.”

  “Anything happens, you know how to find me.” Aubry glanced inside the house, from over Jason’s shoulder, as if looking for something. “Marco isn’t at home?”

  “Oh, no. He went out a few minutes ago, his morning jog, probably stopped at Derby for some coffee.”

  “It’s alright, then. I’ll leave you be with your books. And get the salt out, a snowstorm is coming.”

  Jason replied with a nod, soberly observing as the Sheriff made his way back to his pickup truck. He waited and waved a goodbye, holding still until the man was out of sight to, finally, go back inside and close the door.

  No second thoughts, he started his search for Clarice.

  He didn’t need to go too far, she was already waiting for him, sitting down on the first steps of the stairs, arms around the legs, facing a blank space ahead.

  “Clarice, I…”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “I just need to know--”

  “I can’t… remember.”

  She was on the verge of exploding into a thousand tears again. Although Jason wanted to embrace her again and support her, there was an icy cloud over him forcing him to stare around all times just to make sure nobody was coming from nowhere with a bloodied axe outside his glass house.

  “Why did you ask me to lie?”

  “I can’t remember!” Her voice echoed through the empty house, leaving Jason a lot surprised and scared.

  “Hey…” He climbed some steps to sit near her. “I don’t want to push you, I just need to understand what’s happening.”

  She sank her face into her legs, still wrapping her own arms aroun
d herself, while sobbing. That woman was not even near to be considered stable and ready to be put in society again and it made Jason happy to be able to recognize that. He climbed one more step and put one arm around the woman who, after some reluctance, leaned against his shoulder, allowing herself to enjoy that support.

  “If that is true...” She mumbled behind her tears and the mouth covered by Jason’s shoulder. “If that’s true...”

  “We still know nothing. Let’s be patient.”

  “Jason. If that’s true…”

  “What did you remember, earlier?”

  She seemed to have calmed down. Her shoulders were not trembling so hard anymore and, even though he felt his shoulder wet by the tears, it didn’t seem to be increasing no more.

  “I though it to be an illusion…” Clarice lifted her head and wiped her face from the tears, sniffing to clear the wet nostrils. “I thought that… I don’t know, it could be just my mind trying to come up with its own answers.”

  Jason didn’t interrupt her, nor did he make questions. He just observed her, exposing his genuine interest, allowing her to complete her own thoughts, mostly now that she was permitting herself to be more open with her host.

  “I saw this scene in my mind, this tall man in a leather jacket and a gun pointed to my face… there’s… there’s blood on the floor and the walls and on his face. My hands are also bloodied and…” she tried to withhold a sob and another tear, but she failed. “In the next flash, I’m running in the woods. I don’t know who I am, Jason. I don’t even know if this man is my husband, after all... what kind of husband kills his own wife?”

  Jason hugged her again, his eye lost on the polished wood of the stairs. Her question echoed through his mind for a few seconds, forcing Jason to sink into all those questionings in which he had swum before, and much before.

  “You whispered.” He said, to which she put her head out to face him.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “As we brought you home. You whispered many times. ‘He will come for me’. Is he coming for you?”

  Clarice kept on staring him, he eyes even wider than before, as if trying to solve an equation on her mind.

  “No. I mean, I don’t know, Jason. I don’t even know what I mean by it.”

  “Clarice, I need you to hear me. I know it is something I cannot ask from you, but you need to try and remember.”

  The reprimand was hard coming from Jason and he knew it, although Clarice seemed to take it sensibly. She nodded, listening to his words.

  “It’s not about only you and me. I have a son and I cannot afford having a psychopath after me, one that could hurt my son because of your presence. I’m sorry, but it’s my son’s life.”

  “I understand. And this is the reason why I asked you not to tell the sheriff about me.”

  “You asked me to lie to a friend and, most importantly, to the sheriff.”

  “My memories… although weak, forced me to, Jason. You think I haven’t considered this possibility? You son?”

  The question hovered in the air with no answers, probably because there were no answers. Jason simply shook his head and Clarice did the same, in a silent agreement.

  “If you told him, he would take me from here. I would be vulnerable. Nobody will know I’m here if you keep it that way. I know I’m asking a lot of you, who barely knows me…”

  “Clarice. I offered help.”

  “I just need to recall what happened. Remember. Know who I am, what happened, learn how I can protect myself. And I swear to you that if it comes to that… if he shows up, my husband…”

  “Clarice.”

  “I leave. If he comes near here, I leave. I promise you that. I promise for my life, Jason, I just--”

  “Shh… It’s ok.”

  And he hugged her again as soon as her first tears rolled down. Jason couldn’t fathom the pain she felt or the fear of being captured once more by your executioner, he could only empathize and, in the end, that would be the best redemption he could ever get. He would embrace that chance of atonement even if Michelle couldn’t be there to witness it. He would do it for her.

  III

  What was a cigarette besides a destructive addiction and the guarantee of calm after a storm? He asked himself as he scratched the nicotine patch on his shoulder, underneath the coat, in a failed attempt of, maybe, who knows, prolongate the place effect. It was not working and he was in one of those days. To complete it all, outside the snow fell as if there would be no other opportunities to do so and, oh, how he hated those sudden weather changes. He knew the winter had arrived, but there was no need for that when, days before, he could enjoy a day of mild breeze and calm pace.

  He removed the cellphone from his ear for a few instants, ignoring the apologies coming from the other side, and took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He scratched his eyes, leaned his head back and went back to the call.

  “You guys have no excuse for losing a woman this way. Mostly when she’s the main witness on an ongoing case. You don’t get to request true investigators to your case when you commit such stupid mistakes.” He opposed, trying to keep his cool, although it was possible to feel the intrinsic tones of anger.

  “We cannot guarantee… Detective, we had no idea. As far as we knew, she was a lady lost on the snow.”

  He puffed, trying to ignore the irony of the situation. Regardless of knowing it or not, it was a damn lady lost on the snow, goddammit.

  “You know what?” There was not calm in his voice anymore as he hollered on the phone as he walked down the precinct stairs. It was crowded, something unusual at that time of the day, at that particular day of the week. “Send the information you already have on the case and I’ll see what I can do. It’s already hard enough to get an approval on a joint investigation when you do not have morons barely collaborating with the basic parts of it.”

  With no further anger, he ended the call. Yes, he still needed the cigarette and the whiskey, or maybe just a shot of some random vodka, something hot that would both make his blood warm in such an awful weather and get his head cool. The phone vibrated again, his wife this time. He froze as he reached the precinct front door, staring at the device while it rang. Swipe left or right.

  He swiped left and declined it. He was not on the mood for his woman, let alone the unnecessary discussions to add up in that cold noon. A police office almost bumped onto him and, with all the caution entitled to a fearful rookie afraid of pissing the head detective, he lifted his hands and contracted his face in a way that the very detective felt ready to apologize. It was good, he told the boy with a gentle, yet fake smile, and took the cue to push the door and throw himself into the freezing wind from the outside.

  The streets, as usual, were packed, filled by cars and pedestrians, absorbed in all the excess noise and pollution. Snow was falling in wild spirals in the air, spreading itself, pilling up on the sidewalks and streets and all of it, suddenly, seemed to piss him off. As usual, he groped the inside picket of his trench coat, realizing that his search would be fruitless once he had quit smoking, which implied he would no longer have that friendly pack in its regular place.

  His first instinct, therefore, would be to take his thumb to his lips and bite his nails and the corner of his fingers, but that was not a usual day, today he wouldn’t do it. Au contraire. His second instinct, the most important one, was to reach for the wallet on the back pocket of his pants, from where he would be able to get a few crumpled bills and trade them for a brand new pack of cigarettes, right over there on the corner, had his wallet been there.

  “Shit.” He exhaled, closing his eyes and looking up. That was all he needed to enclose that great morning.

  Quickly, he spun back, considering returning to the precinct to get all he needed at once, once and for all.

  And he spun too quickly. So fast he barely had time to see the stranger who abruptly bumped into him.

  The first feeling was the one caused by the initial sho
ck, the thud; the second came after an extremely loud gasp from the woman, expressed amidst the jump and a warning yell. The third, and last, was the feeling of the warm drops of coffee against his neck, chest and hands and, even though he was protected by the shirt, sweater and coat, he could still fear that desperate sensation caused by hot liquids that, soon enough, would cool down and make him shiver with the cold.

  The last feeling was actually the fourth; the feeling that came when the caught by surprise stranger lifted her face to his, with the cup of coffee already empty in hands and a desolated glare. And she had the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen so far, wonderful and perfectly outlined by the shape and darkness of her long lashes, giving it a living and magnificent green spark under the pale light of that day. They were like two gemstones staring at him as if about to cry. The hair, deeply dark, adorned her face, offering it an even more exotic and worship-worthy delicate touch to her. Her skin was pale as the light of day, with slight signs of an already forgotten and obfuscated tan, so apparently pure to him that he wouldn’t even dare touching. It was like falling in love for the first time.

  “I’m so sorry”, she said, looking at his condition and to the lid of her coffee, laying on the ground in the middle of a small puddle that would soon freeze.

  “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I should be more careful to my surroundings, they say.”

  He still had his arms open, lost between admiration to the woman and not having a single idea of what to do with his soaked-up clothes.

  “Well, five dollars lost on a stupid bump,” she lifted one of the hands, flashing him her phone. “I don’t know why we get so attached to those little technological demons.”

  He dropped his arms and smiled, while she offered him the napkin stuck between her fingers and the empty cup.

  “Thanks,” the attempt to clean out the coffee turned out useless, once it was already completely absorbed by the coat. He would just have to wait. Text walking should also be a crime, I will consider the suggestion.