Harrowing (7 page)

“There wasn’t anything else for you...”

I knew I wouldn’t even need to ask. There were jobs for other people. Just not for me.

Not for someone as damaged and broken as me.

Not for someone who’d gone through what I’d gone through.

There just weren’t. Nobody would ever want me now. Even though they wouldn’t know what had happened to me, and what I’d been through, they would still simply never want me anymore.

From now on I was supposed to be twisted. Traumatized. Shell-shocked. Too shell-shocked to ever make much sense of anything or be of much use to anyone anymore. Hell, maybe they’d even need to stock up on straitjackets in order to hire me. Other offices had fire extinguishers. From now on the offices where I worked would have to be stocked with a set of qualified restraining devices.

I heaved a sigh. Realized at least I had made the right choice by not telling the police about it.

If I’d reported it to the police, I would have had to sit in a courtroom and tell the whole world what had happened to me. I would have had to relive it over and over again. And the world would never have let me forget it.

This way, when people looked at me, at least I appeared normal.

Even if I wasn’t anymore.

My need to find her turned almost into an obsession. I’m a very thorough man, and the first thing I did was to ring up every person listed in the phone book with the name A. Adler. One by one I called them and said, “Hi. May I speak to Ms. Annasuya Adler, please?”

I was polite and courteous. I purred with a smooth, unthreatening voice. Most people responded in a friendly enough manner. But even so, no one would admit to being or knowing an Annasuya Adler.

In the end I concluded that perhaps her number was unlisted. There had to be another way.

Lulu observed me, impassive, a glass of scotch in her hands. She swirled it around, then plunked it rudely on the ground between her legs.

“Why don’t you let
me
try?” she said, her voice coarse and vulgar. “I’m sure that bloody whore of yours wouldn’t trust a man if she answered the phone. Maybe she even recognized your voice.”

I guffawed.

“You? You sound like a lumberjack.”

Lulu sulked, then leaned back suggestively on the chaise longue. Pulling back her dressing gown, she opened her legs wide. I noticed she’d foregone the panties today.

I started towards her, but somehow just couldn’t find her appealing at the moment. Annasuya was still on my mind. Her face. Her voice. The silkiness of her skin against mine. The perfume of her hair. I simply couldn’t forget her. I waved at Lulu.

“Sorry, lovey. Not today,” I said.

Petulant, Lulu gathered her slender, mile-long legs together and pulled her bony feet up against her crotch. I shook my head again, decisive. Pouting, she pulled her dressing gown around herself and turned her back to me.

“What’s on TV tonight?” I tried to mollify her.

She picked up the remote control, and within a few minutes toddlers in multi-coloured ball pools were flashing across the screen.

I sat at my laptop and googled Annasuya’s name. Now, everyone knows that Annasuya is a highly unusual name. Perhaps she was on Facebook, or had her address listed on some professional site. Not that she has a particularly prestigious profession, as far as I’m aware. She’s merely an office worker. And office workers are a dime a dozen. If I were her,
I
would definitely not be advertising my clerical services anywhere. I would have felt ashamed to do such a thing. But still, it was a shot in the dark.

I found her on Facebook, but her profile was private. Not that she would have revealed her address on Facebook anyways, of course. The only thing I was able to discern was that she lived in the city. But I had already imagined
that.

In the end, it was by the strangest shot of pure, unadulterated chance that I found her. But then again, oftentimes in life, it’s precisely the most important, transcendental events that appear to happen by sheer luck.

It came about because we were trying to adapt a new boutique in the suburbs. Unlike most of our stores, which were located in shopping centres, this one was planned for a single-unit, standalone building within a popular shopping district. When we rented it, it looked like a square box. A doughy, chunky, unimaginative square box. And that wasn’t suitable for our eclectic, avant-garde style.

I chatted with a few members of my staff. Our creative IT head, Michel Rodriguez, turned out to be creative in other ways as well. As he doodled in the margins of the notebook where he was taking notes, I noticed the original curved dome shape, rather like the lens of a camera, that he had designed in blue ink. A light bulb went off in my head.

“That’s the rooftop of our new boutique!” I exclaimed. Trembling with excitement, I held up Michel’s idle drawings for the rest of the staff to see.

My boss, Lars Herbert, peered over his eyeglasses at me.

“Unusual,” he said. “Eccentric.”

He gifted me with an enormous grin.

“Perfect, Bruno. This design embodies Herbert and Mons to perfection. Original, yet clean and neat. Stylish, but also refreshing. Remind me to give you a shout the next time we need a new associate.”

I burst out into a smile from ear to ear.

“Here.” I tossed the notebook back to Michel. “Thanks for lending me your idea.”

Our first task was to find a company that could help us bring this design to life. We decided we would take the entire boutique apart if we had to. But the new design had to stay. We tossed around a few architectural firms and put our project out to tender.

I had lunch with a veteran from Kirby and Associates while we discussed his firm’s proposal. Jim Daniels was one of the leaders of this up-and-coming company with a promising future before it. First, we went over the details of his company’s ideas. Jim informed me that he would effectively be in charge of the project in the event that we chose his company. He gave me the name and references of the architect he would designate to work with him.

I asked to see this architect’s completed projects. I wanted to get a feel for his style, test his professionalism. Jim pulled out his mobile and flashed a few shots of some breathtakingly beautiful buildings from around the city. I had lived here all my life, and yet there were some I had never even seen before.

“Incredible, Mr. Daniels,” I said. “Your employee is without a doubt one of the most gifted architects I’ve ever encountered, and here at Herbert and Mons we’ve worked with quite a few.”

Jim laughed good-naturedly.

“Yes. Mr. Henri’s our star,” he admitted while he wiped mayonnaise from his crimson-and-gold-striped satin tie. “We have five professionals working for us. All young, highly qualified. All of them graduated top of their class. But I won’t deny it, Henri’s my favourite.”

I reached the last photo on his mobile, flicked absently into a different album without meaning to.

And there she was. The face that had been haunting me for weeks, and wouldn’t let me go. The face I’d been looking for for a long time. The face of Annasuya Adler.

I couldn’t dissimulate the low whistle that hissed past my lips involuntarily. Jim stared at me in surprise.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Far from it. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, you’re hired!”

I started guffawing.

“Yes, I definitely want to work with you and your architect.”

I turned the photo of Annasuya towards him. She was stunning, dressed in a scarlet velvet gown, embroidered with silver sequins, that reached to her feet and showed off her sensuous curves to perfection. Her arms were tightly wrapped around a handsome gentleman with a slender face and a fine café-au-lait complexion.

“Who is this delightful young lady?” I asked.

Jim grinned broadly at me.

“Ah. You’re looking at a photo, precisely, of our star architect, Mr. Henri. Calvin Henri, that is. That’s his girlfriend. That photo was taken at the company Christmas party last year.”

He glanced over the photo.

“Yes, undeniably a lovely young lady. Calvin’d just met her at that time. But from what I understand, they’re still going out.”

Jim adjusted his tie around his neck a little awkwardly.

“Ah, young people. What I wouldn’t give to be in that place again.”

He smoothed his hands over the lines starting to show up on his sagging face.

“My wife and I have been married for over thirty years now. You could say we’re happy. But I miss the zest and excitement of those early days...”

He closed his eyes for a minute, apparently lost in memory lane. Then he smiled ruefully at me.

“Are you married, Mr. Jarvas?”

I shook my head.

“I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” I replied curtly.

I didn’t feel like delving into detail about my romances. Jim appeared to take the hint and changed the subject.

“Well, Mr. Jarvas. It’s been a pleasure, and thank you for sharing your time with me. If you’re anything like me, I know you must have a hectic schedule too. Will you be in touch with your company’s decision?” He pocketed his mobile.

We left the restaurant and I headed back to my penthouse suite. Fortunately, as Vice President, my vote held the heaviest weight and Kirby and Associates was awarded the project.

*

I pulled the curtains tight over my wide bay window, shivering in my newly renovated home on Bedford Park in spite of the efficient heating. I used to live in a three-bedroom bungalow. But recently, I had noticed my neighbours upgrading their homes into two and even three-storey mansions. And I wasn’t to be left behind. So I’d had the same done to my place. I’d turned one of the three downstairs bedrooms into a study where I could work from home, one into a fitness room and the third was now reserved for guests. My own bedroom, along with the four others the house now sported, was on the second floor.

This was a peaceful neighbourhood. Nothing ever happened here, so far from the city centre and its hoards of beggars, delinquents and homeless people. But for some reason I couldn’t help feeling uneasy tonight.

I glanced at Lulu. She’d guzzled an inordinate amount of scotch and it had taken its toll on her. Now she lay snoring like a freight train on her chaise longue, her dressing gown spread out in a heap around her, barely concealing her more intimate regions.

I opened the curtain just a smidgen and peered out into the dark. Nothing moved. Nothing was supposed to move. But I thought I saw a shadow. A darker darkness out there in the blackness. I shook my head sheepishly.

Aw, come off it, Bruno,
I said to myself.
A big, grown man like yourself, over six feet tall and scared of the dark?

I laughed a little nervously. Stepped backwards, hands on the edges of the curtains, ready to close them again.

But then I saw it.

It was just a faint movement.

It could have been the rustling of the wind through the trees. There were a few in my front yard. I’d never taken much notice of them. After all, trees don’t serve much purpose in life. They only litter your front yard and make you dirty your hands clearing out the useless branches and dried leaves. But on the other hand, as long as they didn’t step on my toes or get in my way, I didn’t really have a problem with them either.

Whatever it was moved again.

It could also have been just a hare. A raccoon or a skunk. Goodness knows there were plenty of those kinds of vermin round here.

But somehow I didn’t think it was any sort of creature.

I thought the eyes, gleaming in the blackness, looked human.

I thought I could ignore it. But somehow, it bothered me. Goaded at me. At last, arming myself with courage, I pulled open the front door and flicked on the porch light.

There was nothing out there.

I laughed softly to myself. Me and my crazy imagination.

Of course there was nothing out there.

I turned off the light and stepped back, ready to close the door.

“I’m gonna kill you, Bruno Jarvas,” a voice taunted in a whisper.

It sounded like it was right next to my ear.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Furious, I reached out and switched on the light again.

There was nothing there.

“Kids!” I yelled. “Damn, stupid, bloody asshole kids. Scat, or I’m calling the police.”

I waited. There was no reply.

I waved my hands, turned off the light and closed the door.

This time, there was only silence.

I locked the door. Pushed all the bolts home.

Then I slid over to the broad bay window. My hand hesitated on the curtain. At last, trembling like a schoolkid in spite of my tough exterior, I pulled the curtains aside one bare inch.

A gory, blood-covered face with ashen skin as pale as a corpse’s plastered itself against the glass.

I leapt back, screaming like all bloody hell was after me.

The face disappeared.

Quaking, I dashed for the door. My blood was roaring in my ears. My hands shook as I fumbled with the bolts and locks. At last I managed to get the door open and flick on the light switch as fast as my cramped muscles could move.

There was no one in the yard.

This time, I didn’t dare turn off the light when I closed the door.