Planned Coincidence: A Thrilling Suspense Novel (International Mystery & Crime)

by Dana Arama

  He sat back, straightened his long legs, and cupped his head with his hands. The sun's rays caressed his face. To an observer, it seemed as if he was asleep.

  I smiled. "You almost tricked me. You don’t really let yourself relax. I see beneath your sunglasses - your eyes are constantly searching for something. Looking for chicks?"

  "Looking for hints of anything untoward. Perhaps types of people who seem out of place.”

  I looked around. I had not seen anything or anyone that looked out of place. Three fishermen shared a cigarette, arguing loudly about yesterday's news. Their facial skin looked like old parchment after hours of exposure to the sun. Their callused hands indicated that they were in their place. They were at the port years before the restaurant we were sitting in opened.

  I continued to watch passersby walking on the pier, enjoying the easy breeze, time on their hands, like tourists in their own town. I followed a group of high school students who walked by. Summer vacation had begun. They were bouncy, noisy, and happy. I could not stop looking at them. They’re Robbie's age, I thought. He would also be enjoying summer vacation had he not been murdered two months before graduation. Again I saw his mutilated fingers that would not write tests again. I thanked god my sunglasses hid my eyes well.

  "Mrs. Korman, welcome," the shift manager said as he came to greet me with a smile spread across his face. "Long time no see here." I could see the question in his eyes, but I ignored him on purpose. He put two menus on our table and went on his way.

  Guy looked at me, clearly amused. "A festive reception they give you in Tel Aviv."

  "I'll admit I haven’t visited the city for a long time, perhaps too long. Even the menu’s changed," I muttered as I looked at it.

  "I'll go on the safe side. I know the place. A friend of mine, Snir, was a chief bartender here. This restaurant is known for steaks so that's what I'll choose.”

  He passed up wine and asked for a beer instead, while I debated between a glass of French Chablis and the Sauvignon-Blanc from New Zealand, which was not so well known but recommended by knowledgeable people. The waiter assured me Chablis would go well with lobster salad, was light and appropriate for the late afternoon. I ordered that. No one needed to know that for me, wine was the main course.

  As we waited for the food to arrive, I closed my eyes and let the sun caress me, too. The hot day brought a lot of people to the beach and I became addicted to the sounds around us. Sounds of casual conversation, brisk steps, lazy steps, a burst of laughter… I sank into them as if they were a refuge from the memories of the past and my plans for the future. I realized that I was having fun, much to my surprise.

  I opened my eyes and scanned the place as if seeing it for the first time. I looked at the tables that began to fill with diners. I watched the waiters in white shirts and black aprons darting between them. I focused on the sun’s rays through a pitcher of water. They created a wonderful rainbow of colors on the surface.

  At the other end of the restaurant, my eyes found a person who was the exception Guy was talking about. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, which seemed off for an Israeli summertime, and sat with a skinny woman in a flowered dress and wide-brimmed straw hat that hid her face. My good feelings stopped when I recognized him. I could not remember which of them it was. In my mind, I still called him A or B. It did not really matter to me. His appearance was like a cloud covering the sun. I did not want to stay there any longer.

  "Someone over there," I heard Guy say. "He’s pointing a camera at us."

  I jumped at the chance to hang my disappearance on the photographer. "Ugh, that’s just all I need. Do you mind if we give up on the meal?" I did not wait for an answer and was already up, clutching my purse. "We’ll pay at the exit!”

  "No problem at all." He rose from his seat immediately. "Do you want me to challenge that photographer?"

  "No. It’s better to ignore him. In fact, it’s better to disappear.” I threw a quick look to my right and I tried to find the wide-brimmed hat. Just before I breathed a sigh of relief, I realized that she was sitting there alone. The thought that A might continue to follow me made my chest tighten. You won’t die from a heart attack, I scolded myself. Without waiting for the bill, I put four bills on the counter; they would surely cover the cost of the meal, including a respectful tip.

  Guy rushed to the front door ahead of me, checked the street, and waved me out. "No cameras here," he said, trying to calm me down. I did not think to tell him that cameras were not my concern. We made our way to the car quickly and disappeared from the scene. I tried to locate A in one of the cars around me, but I did not see him. However, the feeling that I was not alone remained.

  ***

  Guy disappeared on Tuesday.

  We started the day with a carb heavy meal. Shortly after, we entered the training room. I felt like I was getting used to the new movements. I had them in my head when I took a shower, when I got dressed, as I sat eating. They filled me with positive feelings, like I had felt when I was a teenager and did ballet. Even then, I used to frolic at every opportunity, especially in front of the mirror.

  "If we ignore the aggression that the exercises need, they have a lot of dance in them,” I commented. "I can definitely understand why people enjoy this."

  "Aggression’s an important component. We mustn’t turn it off, but you can reduce your usage if you’re familiar with the strategic points of attack - for example, the nose,” he said as he shook his finger under my nose and shook me up elegantly. "See? I moved you without effort. I can even lead you to me without you being able to resist.”

  While he said those words, I was already near him. I felt his arms around me and I wondered where this move would lead if the circumstances were different.

  "Now you attack." Again, he was in front of me, all professional and detached. “When you throw the next shot, try to direct it into the place where I put pressure on. If you feel the punches aren’t strong enough, use the palm of your hand.”

  We changed positions. When he performed defense movements, he worked slowly, careful to show each step, emphasizing and explaining the nuances that made up the exercises. From time to time, he stopped, stood beside me and adjusted my hands or feet. His momentary touch on my body was different from the touch I was used to: not tempting, not provocative, yet evoking a fair amount of excitement.

  "Look at me, at the chest area. At this point, you can see all the body.”

  I did that and I could not help thinking how manly he was with his earnest eyes and his day-old stubble. I continued to hit again and again as his voice drove me on, even when my arms became so fatigued, even when it felt like they wanted to fall from their sockets.

  After my morning session, I went into the bathroom to shower. With a burst of courage, I went out wrapped in a peach-colored, transparent chiffon gown. What made me do it? It was probably the hoarseness in his voice that I heard during training, or maybe it was the second that our glance stayed on each other, broken only by the involuntary blink of our eyes.

  At the top of the stairs, my audacity expired. I stopped. The house was quiet. Too quiet. I turned around and went back to my room. Now the stupid step I was about to take did not bother me, but the fact that I did not know where he was did. I dressed quickly and I ran downstairs. Through the large windows, I saw that the pool house was closed. At a brisk pace, I went to the kitchen, then into the garage, and then ran to the office above. He was not there.

  I went down again. This time I stood behind the door of his suite and pressed my ear to it while I tried to silence my breaths. After a long wait, I opened the door. He was not there. I went out and closed the door quietly. My pulse was throbbing all over my body. I could feel it pounding in my head, my fingertips, in the trembling that suddenly seized me.

  Staggering, I approached my chair and fell into it, utterly exhausted, frozen in a fetal position. I wanted to go up to my room, to calm the sense that I was alone again, exposed, in daylig
ht, but my legs did not respond. “He'll be back,” I muttered to myself over and over like a relaxing mantra, hugging my knees tightly and rocking in tiny movements in my place. He’ll be back, I tried to convince myself. In my mind, I saw him fighting against A and B. Why did they have to come back to my life? I was now convinced that it was no coincidence yesterday at the port. God, please don’t take him too. Don’t let them win, I silently pleaded. I had not turned to Him for years. After all, who did I have to pray for?

  An hour later, I heard the door open. I stared at it over the back of the chair. I expected to get hit. I shrank back into my hiding place, not daring to breathe. Then I saw his big hand on the door handle, then his sweating face. I emerged from my hiding place, deeply relieved. He glanced at me and stopped. A questioning look came to his face. He quickly surveyed the interior of the house.

  "You disappeared," I said as I began to babble. I did not want to sound accusatory; I also did not want to admit that I was frightened by the idea of losing someone else, even if he had only just come into my life.

  "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I went for a run. Are you okay?”

  "Yes. I'm going to rest." I tried to get up, but my knees stiffened. I converted my sense of shame into a grumble. "We’ll continue training tomorrow, okay?" I could not look him in the face.

  "Next time, I'll let you know before I leave. I don’t want you to worry again." If he opened his arms to me now, I would land between them and really relax.

  My knees resumed functioning and I went back to my room. I closed the door and fell on my bed, utterly exhausted. When I woke up, it was next morning.

  ***

  On Wednesday I went out for my training session.

  "I see you’re in a better mood. This’ll make it easier for you to do what we’re going to do."

  "You trying to scare me?" I smiled at him. "I'm ready to train hard even without this dramatic opening."

  "Okay. We’re changing tack today. We’ll concentrate on something specific. I want to show you some responses for other situations. I remind you again: at the moment you are attacked, your mental state will inform your response, and that’s critical. If you experience the pressure now, there’s a better chance you won’t panic. Are you ready?”

  "Yes,” I said willingly.

  "We’ll simulate an attempt at rape,” he said. I felt a shudder of revulsion.

  "Look," I said, looking into his eyes. I recognized the sensitivity that he had so far hidden.

  He quietly replied, "You think you're far from that, that your world is safe, but I know these scum can try anything, including this. The police know that this is one of the means they use against women."

  I realized he had a point, remembering that one girl’s chilling story. I would not be afraid. In our previous practices, I had dealt so beautifully with his attacks. The soft tone that I recognized in his voice went back to hiding a practical approach.

  "To do this, we’ll focus on various ways to get out of such confinements. Come on, lie down on the mat." I did, and immediately pulled my shirt back down after it rode up over my stomach.

  "With the woman already lying down, he can grab onto from the side and strangle her. A rapist also may come in bending down, maybe grabbing her with one hand and stripping her with the other." Guy sat on me to demonstrate the various attacks.

  I felt his weight and I could smell his skin, but these were not the reasons I felt dizzy. Although he pressed my hands to the mattress, all points of contact between us focused on his penis, which almost touched my body. Again, I had to work against the adrenaline that flooded my blood. It's only because it’s been so long since you’ve been so close to a man’s body, I thought. Get over it and concentrate on his words. The attraction I felt made me feel very far from feeling threatened.

  "You can do lots of things against it, especially from the base exercises we learned from withstanding assault." His voice seemed to come from somewhere else. With great difficulty I brought myself back into the room.

  He got up. "Okay, I showed you the types of attacks and now I'll show you my way of self-defense."

  Very naturally, he lay down on the mattress and motioned for me to approach him. "Sit on me… you’re the attacker now. Place your hands on my neck." I did it. I leaned on my knee on one side and on the other put my weight on my foot. I tried to distance myself from full contact with him.

  "Do you really think a rapist would be sitting on you like that? He wouldn’t be so thoughtful and kind. Sit on me!" he ordered. I sat. Now I was straddling him, I could feel his warm body through our thin clothes. My body tingled.

  If he was concerned about my body being so intimate with him, he indicated nothing. "Now, look at how we apply the exercises we learned before. Once the attacker bends and chokes, you fold your legs so that you can use your pelvis as leverage and throw him. To this, add motion with the shoulder and put a fist in the face and groin." He demonstrated and I found myself lying beneath him. I rose with supreme restraint from the mat. I knew that I would now have to deal with a new kind of difficulty from that day onwards.

  Chapter 11

  The next day I regretted everything. I woke up on Thursday morning and remembered that once I had anticipated these days with great pleasure. Mornings were filled with small and unimportant programs: Buying a new outfit to wear in the evening, a meeting with one friend or another in a coffee shop before or after a visit to the hairdresser; an enjoyable day finishing with a concert in the evening.

  But, this morning, my stomach turned over. I was reluctant to start the day. I felt like staying in bed and keeping to my room. I woke up with thoughts about the concert and felt like a girl before her first prom. It could have been great, had I not known that at this ball would be guests who wanted to trip me as soon as I walked down the stairs.

  At breakfast, I pushed the plate away from me, which I had picked over with difficulty. I also pushed away a full glass of orange juice. Guy jumped up just before the juice spilled on his trousers and dropped into the chair he was sitting on. I tried to catch the glass, but it shattered on the floor.

  "Don’t move," Guy said. "I’ll pick up the glass."

  "Good morning," Esther said. "You two… don’t move. You’re barefoot. I’ll deal with it."

  A minute later, the floor was clear of glass shards. Even the table was whiter than white. Nothing remained of what had just happened. I saw this as a promise of the continuation of a normal day.

  Esther took my plate. "What’s with you? You haven’t eaten anything," she said in a chastising voice.

  "Estherikka, you can stop worrying. I ate a lot last week." I hugged the short, robust woman's shoulders, but she was not satisfied.

  "Gabi, you’ve a lot to catch up on!" Guy returned to his place after he threw the glass shards away. She looked at him with a smile and added, "And you're a young man. If there’s anything missing, just tell me. I'm so glad you encourage her to eat."

  "Everything’s great, Esther. No complaints about the kitchen. As far as Gabriella’s concerned, she has to eat. I squeeze the juice out of her in training.”

  "Yes, well, about that… today, you won’t be squeezing any juice out of me. I made an appointment with Rachel. I have to do something with my hair. I can’t look like this in public." I ran a hand through my tangled curls.

  "This afternoon, then? Or, after you’ve arranged your hair, we can’t go crazy?"

  "I have an hour of yoga and meditation with Orly at noon. God knows I need to be relaxed today."

  "Remember that it’s your friends you’ll be seeing, not your enemies," Esther commented.

  "I know exactly who I'm going to meet, Estherikka. That's why I'm worried." I sat back down.

  "Everything will go smoothly, with God's help. You'll see, you’ll have a good time." She put an encouraging hand on my shoulder. "Well, I also have plenty to do today. I should get started."

  "Don’t you want to join us for breakfast?" I glanced at
her out of the corner of my eye.

  "I want you to eat a little more." She returned, placed the plate in front of me, and went back inside.

  "It doesn’t look as if she could be your mother. You mentioned that her daughter was your age."

  "That’s how it is when they marry you off at sixteen. And her daughter was not really my age, but four years younger than me. There are some people whom nothing affects Like Esther. She remained strong. It’s impossible not to love her.”

  "She’s like my mother. She’s also that type. No matter how much trouble I caused her, she was there. She has always had a good word to say to my credit. But not just in my case. Even when we didn’t know if the farm would survive the next season, in her kitchen, you wouldn’t know it. It gave confidence to everyone around her.”

  "Yes. There are those who manage to rise above it, even if life doesn’t spoil them." I felt he was making a comparison between us. She fighting like a lioness to bring food for her family, and I, on the other hand, supposedly fighting boredom. He had no idea about my future plans, just as he had no idea about my past. That past was what created my ‘self,’ as my psychologist, with whom I spoke to once a week somewhere in the distant past, called it. I preferred to leave things as they were. He did not know how well I understood his mother’s struggles. I went through them too, but in my case it all happened at the age of twenty-three.

  "You were a problem child?" I asked, mainly to generate conversation and focus my thoughts.

  "Oh yes. That’s why I started martial arts at a young age. It was a way to take out aggression.” He sat back with a relaxed expression. "And you? How would you describe yourself as a child?"

  "I was a curious child who was not afraid to stand out from the crowd. Maybe I even insisted on it."

  "You?” I heard the wonder in his voice. “Unconventional?"

  "Yes.” I nodded. "But that girl grew up to be quite banal."