by A. D. Winch
“Three, two one, zero,” she counted positively and let go of the window ledge on the fifth floor.
She dropped through the air; her feet hit the ledge below, but they didn’t grip and, instead, slid outwards. Piles of bird seed were kicked into the air. Ursula followed. She palmed at the ledge as she went past it but as she tried to grip, her hands only grasped sunflower seeds.
Her feet missed the fourth-floor ledge, but her hands hit it and slowed down her fall. She needed to regain control, but she was falling too fast. As she passed a window on the third floor, she pulled her head back and head-butted the glass with all her might. The window shattered, and she stretched out her arms, desperately trying to find anything to cling onto. Her hands fell onto a bed headboard, and her fingers gripped it tight. In an instant, she stopped falling, and her shoulders screamed as she came to an abrupt halt. For a short while, she just hung there, breathing deeply; then she dragged herself into a drab bedroom.
The flat was quiet, but Ursula just wanted to get out of it. She moved quickly through the bedroom, into the dark hallway and reached the door. The key was in the lock; she turned it and ran out of the flat as fast as she could.
A few minutes later, she was out of the apartment block and sprinting away from the Saint-Denis area as fast she could.
Back in her grandparents’ apartment, the OSS agent entered her room. He saw the block of wood on the bed, the dust around it and the open window. Fortunately, he assumed the wood had fallen out of the ceiling and closed the window without looking out.
“This place is falling to pieces,” he muttered to himself and went back to the TV in the living room.
Only when Ursula had run out of breath, did she stop. She was standing beside the Canal de Saint-Denis. The river flowed calmly beside her and lights from overlooking buildings were reflected in the water. Ursula walked along the quai until she reached a bridge that crossed the river. She looked up as the cars drove across and made sure there were no CCTV cameras. She couldn’t see any, so walked under it.
In the distance, she could see a group of loud men walking towards her. They were obviously drunk and swayed dangerously close to the water. Ursula did not want to meet them, and she climbed a large bridge support until she was directly under the road. There was a metre high gap, and she lay down as the cars rumbled directly above. The place smelled of car exhausts and rubbish, but she was hidden. This was all that mattered to her. Every time a car passed over the bridge it rocked gently, and Ursula’s eyes soon closed. It wasn’t long before she was fast asleep.
“So, what happened then?” asked Claude, taking a swig of the wine and handing the carton back to Ursula.
“I got woken by a man poking me. He kept saying that the bridge was his home, and I had to find another. Over the next few days, I kept getting moved on by people. I didn’t know so many homeless people had places they called home,” Ursula sighed. “Eventually, I found a cardboard box in an alleyway.”
“What did you do for food and drink?”
“I went through dustbins near fast food restaurants. On my thirteenth birthday, I found a burger that hadn’t been touched. It was a real feast,” she smiled fleetingly.
“How about keeping clean and drinking?”
“I found some public toilets that I could use.”
Claude took the wine from Ursula and drunk some more, before handing it back to her. He slouched against the bus shelter and closed his eyes.
“It’s a sad story,” he muttered to himself. “They always are.”
For the next few minutes, they sat in silence. Snow continued to fall around them and, outside the bus shelter, it was getting deeper and deeper.
“What do I do now?” asked Ursula.
She directed her question more at herself than Claude but looked across at him. Even with his eyes closed he was twitching; his head made small, sharp movements, and his nose moved like a mouse. Slowly, his eyes opened and he looked right at her. His head stopped moving, and he held Ursula’s gaze without flinching.
“Don’t accept it,” he ordered. “Fight back!”
“I can’t,” pleaded Ursula.
“Why? What have you got to lose? You want to live your life like me?”
Ursula did not answer, and Claude hit her hard in the chest.
“Well, do you? Do you want to live your life like me?”
“No,” mumbled Ursula.
“I should think not. They’ve used you, chewed you up and then spat you back out again,” Claude was becoming more animated. His eyes were glinting, and his arms were flailing wildly. “I know I said I wasn’t going to judge you but I am. I’ve chosen to live like this, but you’ve given up. You’re a quitter, and I don’t like quitters.”
Claude began to twitch again and then jumped up.
“Get out of my bus shelter,” he shouted and then roughly took hold of Ursula.
He pushed her out of the shelter and threw her into the road. She landed in the snow and lay there. Warm tears of sadness were flowing down her face but slowly they became tears of anger. She felt her body tense and her hands became fists. The last time she had felt like this was also in the snow, when she had fought Eric.
“That’s it, just lie in the road until you get run over by a snowplough,” sneered Claude.
Ursula jumped up and launched herself into the bus shelter. She grabbed hold of Claude and pinned him against the bus shelter with one hand. Her other hand came forward, and just as she was about to hit him in the face, he laughed at her.
“It feels good to be alive,” he said, “doesn’t it?”
Ursula withdrew her fist but did not let him go.
“All that anger inside you,” continued Claude, slurring his words. “And who are you directing it at, young lady? A poor, defenceless, drunk, homeless guy. Is that how your grandparents brought you up?”
Ursula felt guilty; she dropped her guard and let him go. Claude fell back onto the bench, and she turned away. She couldn't look at him.
“You’re strong,” said Claude and then sprang up, twisted Ursula’s arm behind her back and pushed down onto the concrete pavement. He sat on her back and twisted Ursula’s arm further.
Ursula tried not to scream as she didn’t want him to know how much he was hurting her. Claude bent down, so his head rested on the helmet next to her face. The weight of him on her arm, hurt even more, but she didn’t make a noise.
“As I said, you’re strong but you don’t live on the streets for as a long as I have without learning to look after yourself. Now listen carefully to me. I am going to let go of your arm, but I am not moving from your back. If you try to get out from underneath me, I’ll grab your arm before you know it and pull it out of your socket. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” uttered Ursula.
Claude let go of Ursula’s arm, and she pulled it up beside her head. His weight seemed heavier now, and she could not move.
“Do you know what I am?” Claude asked.
Ursula answered, “Horrible.”
Claude laughed, “No, I’m the weight of the world on your shoulders. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to lie there and let me walk all over you?”
Ursula’s felt him relax slightly. She spun around and kneed him between the legs. Claude fell backwards onto the concrete.
“I… was…not… really… going… to… hurt… you,” he said between deep breaths, clutching at his groin. “I… just… wanted… to… teach… you… a… lesson. Now… help… me… up.”
He held out a hand. Ursula ignored it and continued to eye him suspiciously.
“Help. Me. Up.”
Ursula reluctantly did as she was asked and pushed Claude back on the bench. He put his head between his legs and took long, deep breaths.
“You are capable, ma fillette. I'm sorry for what I just did. I just wanted to prove something to you. Now, do you want some advice from me?”
He took a long swig from the carton and handed it to Urs
ula. She took it but didn’t sit down.
“You have fight in you and it's time to use it. You wouldn’t accept being thrown out of a bus shelter, but you will accept being thrown out of your own home. What’s wrong with you? Firstly, you need to get into your grandparents’ apartment and try to find some money. Old people always leave cash lying around for a rainy day. After that, you need to find your grandparents, that man Alexander and your boyfriend, Eric.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ursula snorted
“You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Once you are all back together, you need to go after that US agency you were talking about. You can’t live your life like me, and I don’t want you to end up like me. Even if you have only got a year to live," he paused and looked at her incredulously. "I think you may be a little crazy, and some of your story seems a bit far-fetched, but I don’t think you’re a quitter. I just wanted to see how much fight you still had inside you.”
Ursula sat down beside Claude and thought about what he had said. She had been ‘spat out’ and left. It was freezing cold. She had no access to proper food or drink and, he was right, she couldn’t live like this forever.
“I’m a good person,” Claude added apologetically. “Admittedly, I do like a good wine.” He held up the cheap carton. “But a man has to have a vice.”
In front of them, lights began to come on, in the windows of Ursula’s block.
“How about I help you get into your grandparents’ apartment. It would be nice to have a roof over my head for a while,” said Claude.
Ursula thought about his proposal. Finally, she replied, “You’re right. It's time to fight back. What have I got to lose?”
Back to Contents
***
Chapter 2 – Imprisoned
Eric woke, but his eyes remained firmly shut. He hoped that he had been having a nightmare and that he would be back in his bed at one of his homes. Tentatively, he opened his eyes. The view in front of him was not what he had hoped for.
The room was rectangular and plain. The only personal touches on the walls were pictures, and these had been given to him by Doctor Noel. He reluctantly got out of bed and looked at the 'approved' reminders of his past life.
According to Doctor Noel, they were supposed to help Eric feel better as his medicine was reduced. It didn’t work. Every time Eric looked at them, all he felt was anger. Each picture made him think about what he had lost and how his freedom had been taken away. He should have just torn them all down, but that would have meant bare walls again.
The pictures that riled him the most were of Paris and Prague. When he looked at them, he thought about Ursula and their last conversation. They had been standing in a beach outhouse surrounded by agents and soldiers from the Office of Strategic Services or OSS. He could remember almost every word they had said to each other.
“It’s you! Before you, everything was fine. You have ruined my life,” he had shouted at Ursula.
She had replied with tears streaming down her face, “My life has changed as much as yours, and you can’t blame me for all those things happening to you. I’m sorry that you can’t use your money. I’m sorry that you have been kept a prisoner. I’m sorry that you, and I, may die in a year and I’m sorry that you are now an orphan. But I didn’t do any of these things to you.”
She had been right. Only now that she was gone, did he realise this. Her life had changed as much as his. She had lost a warm family, and all he had lost was cold money.
When he had run out onto the beach that day, he had never looked back at her, and that is where his memories of Ursula stopped. As his head had become less fuzzy, and his thinking had become clearer, he had tried to contact her but without any real success. He sensed that she was alive and this, at least, pleased him greatly.
Maybe she’s in the same situation as me, he thought.
On a number of occasions, he had wondered if he could have stopped all of this happening. If he had welcomed Ursula with open arms would things have been different? There was no answer, and he knew it.
Not long after he arrived, he had met a man called Buddy Angel. Buddy had implied that Ursula was a drug addict, but the more Eric questioned this in his mind, the more absurd it seemed. Buddy had also told him that Andrea was probably a devious criminal. Eric tried to imagine how many devious criminals act out a double life as a nanny. He couldn’t think that there would be many. Admittedly, Andrea was strange at times but, and this was crucial, she had always been there for him. Even if she was a devious criminal, she was his devious criminal, and he missed her.
Lastly, there was Alexander. When Buddy Angel had told Eric that Alexander had no medical or dental records, tax details, wage slips, cell phone numbers, driving licence, social security number or Facebook page, Eric had believed him. Eric still believed him now. Alexander often behaved suspiciously. He was always looking over his shoulder; paranoid about who or what could be lurking around corners. Despite this, Eric had come to realise that, like Ursula, he had never given Alexander a chance. While Eric had been with Alexander, he had been safe. When they got separated, he had ended up here.
But where was 'here'? This was one of two questions that were becoming more and more important for Eric. If he moved his bed under the narrow window and looked out he could see some of his surroundings. There was dry, sandy soil and little vegetation apart from some spindly trees and bushes. From his blinkered view, he guessed that he was somewhere in, or near, the Mediterranean. This wasn’t very helpful as he knew that this could mean he was anywhere between Portugal and Turkey.
The other question Eric could not get out of his head was where was he specifically?
He knew he was on a military base, but he now doubted that this was for his safety. Doctor Noel and Buddy Angel had insisted that he was a target and needed to remain hidden. However, as the medicines were reduced, he became less and less sure about this. Who was he a target for? No one, apart from the OSS, had ever paid him any noticeable, out of the ordinary, attention.
Eric walked around his room. It was a cross between a painted cell and a one-star hotel room. If he went into the corridor outside, he was free to go into all other rooms except for two which remained locked. There was a small gym, a living room and a games room, but they were all the same size as his. He was in a block of cells.
The second question entered his head again - where was he specifically? He was sure that he was in a prison and, with every passing day, he was more convinced.
Eric approached a thin wardrobe and removed the clothes that had been put there for him. He put on jeans, a T-shirt and a fashionable pair of trainers. They were a present from Doctor Noel on his thirteenth birthday, some days ago. Eric knew that they were fakes the moment he saw them, but he no longer cared about wearing only 'designer' clothes. They were the only shoes he had after his own had been lost.
There was no clock in the room; he did not have a watch and the timer on the tablet computer did not work. Eric assumed that it was morning from the sun's position in the sky, but he could not be sure. However, he was confident that within five minutes of getting up, Nurse Gomez would appear. She would walk into his room with a breakfast tray, put it down and then sit beside him. She always sat too close and insisted on putting her arm around him while she asked him how he was. After a short conversation, she would run her fingers through her dyed-blonde bob and then leave. It was the same every day.
Eric decided to break up the routine.
The door was not locked, and he opened it. The corridor was dark and empty. Strip lights came on automatically as he stepped out of his room. He walked past the other rooms and waited beside the door that led out of the cellblock. Eric began to count the seconds while waiting for Nurse Gomez to enter. When he reached six hundred seconds, she had not appeared. He continued to count until three thousand six hundred seconds, or thirty minutes, but the door did not open. Eric looked around for a camera, but the corridor was bare. He looked u
p and, at various points in the ceiling, there were air vents.
Cameras could be hidden up there, thought Eric, but they were out of his reach.
Feeling that he had achieved a minor victory and had gathered some useful information, he returned to his room.
No sooner had Eric sat on his bed than his door opened. A short, thin nurse who was no bigger than Andrea entered. Her skin was slightly darker but in all other respects, she could have been Andrea’s sister. She put the breakfast tray beside Eric and then sat down on the other side of him.
“How are you this morning?” asked Nurse Gomez with a big smile on her face.
“I’m fine,” Eric lied. “How are you?”
“Good. Thank you. I’ve brought you waffles and maple syrup. They’re delicious,” and she put a maternal arm around him as she pointed at the breakfast. Her hand stayed uncomfortably on his shoulder.
“Great,” Eric lied again. “I’m starving this morning. I was waiting ages for you.”
“Sorry about that, Eric. I had to attend to other things,” she replied sheepishly, stroking his hair.
“What other things?”
Eric felt her arm and body stiffen against him.
She paused too long before answering, “We had some problems with another patient.”
Eric took her hand and asked, “Does that mean I’m a patient, too? I thought I was here for my own safety.”
“Well, er, technically you are still a patient otherwise Doctor Noel would not be looking after you.”
Eric jumped up, “But I feel fine. You can see that, can’t you? When you next see Doctor Noel would you tell him that? He doesn’t seem to believe me.”
“I sure will, sweetie,” replied Nurse Gomez. “Have a nice day.”
Nurse Gomez left the room as quickly as she could without running. Eric smiled to himself. He felt he was getting somewhere.
