Strangers: A Novel(16)

Of course I do, I don’t have to think about it for even a second. “At Lorenzo’s, at the bar. You stood next to me while we were waiting for our drinks. I ordered a caipirinha, you got a mojito, and you said you liked the look of the barman.”

Ela bites down on her lower lip, nodding at almost every one of my words. “That’s all true, except that it was the second time we met. The first time was at the squash club—Erik and I were playing, you came to pick him up, and he introduced me to you.” She smiles, and her expression looks both tense and reassuring at the same time. “Do you remember? You guys had only been together two weeks and you were so crazy about each other it was almost too much to watch.” She looks down at her hands, interlaced on her lap. “You still are, to be honest. You love him, Jo. Very much.” Our eyes meet. “You can’t have forgotten him, surely.”

By now I can barely breathe. I picture the face of the stranger, the man who I supposedly love. I feel nothing, nothing but the nagging fear which his presence provokes in me.

Ela is still looking at me, her expression full of sympathy. My God, what would she stand to gain by lying to me like this?

I press my fingertips against my closed eyelids until it hurts.

Think. If what she says is true …

“Prove it,” I whisper, suppressing the panic rising up inside me. What if she can? What if I have to accept that there’s something seriously wrong with me?

She thinks for a moment, then nods. She stands up and goes over to a little table with a laptop on it. “I have some photos saved on here, we can both—”

The penetrating buzz of the doorbell interrupts her midsentence, and she whirls around. Now her expression is a mix of relief and guilt.

It takes me a moment to catch on. But then I do. “You called him.” My mouth is so dry I can barely form the words. “I’m here telling you how relieved I am to have gotten away from him, and you bring him here to me?”

She looks sad, but I probably can’t believe that any more than I could the supposed telephone call to her colleague.

“He’s so worried about you,” she says softly. “Look, perhaps the three of us can manage to figure this out.”

She’s already halfway to the door, but turns around one more time. “I want to help you, Jo, you have to believe me.”

Please don’t do it, I want to say, please don’t let him in, please hide me from him.

But she has already pressed the door release button.





8

The door unlatches with a sharp clack. Ela opened up for me without any questions. I enter the elevator, even though I hate tight spaces.

Thoughts are tumbling over one another in my head. Hopefully Joanna’s still up there. Does she know it was me who just talked to Ela on the phone and rang the doorbell? And what will be in store for me when I come face-to-face with her again?

I told Ela not to let her leave again at any cost. Was she able to convince Joanna that it’s better for her not to run away from me? That she urgently needs to get help?

What in the hell has happened to her? I mean, she can remember everything else in her life. Like Ela, whom she met through me. How has Joanna’s mind managed to make sense of this friendship without me having been part of it?

Or maybe her head is perfectly fine and she’s just playacting? But why would she? That doesn’t make any sense.

The elevator stops, and its doors open up onto the third floor.

My heart beats faster with every step I take, and starts racing as the door to Ela’s apartment swings inward. Ela looks concerned.

“Is she still here?”

The pounding of my heart has become deafening now.

Ela nods and blinks briefly before stepping aside and letting me enter.

As I step into the small living room, Joanna jumps up and rubs her palms on her thighs. She always does that when she’s nervous or very angry.

She’s so beautiful. Even in this strange situation.

“Jo, I…” I start, but she raises her hands defensively and emphatically shakes her head.

“No, stop. I don’t want to hear the same story again, about how we know each other and even live together. It doesn’t matter how often you repeat it, it doesn’t change anything. I don’t know you.”

There’s that punch to the gut again.

During the night I had a kind of memory of you. It was very brief and fuzzy. Those were her words. And I, foolish as I am, gladly clung to them, like a child being told that Santa Claus exists. She lied to me just so she could escape.

“So then you didn’t really remember me last night?” A superfluous, na?ve question.

Joanna laughs briefly, with no trace of humor. “Of course not. I can’t remember you because I don’t know you. Whatever you have planned—it’s not going to work. So you can just stop, right now.”

She looks past me, and the expression on her face changes. “This man, whoever he is, must have his own selfish reasons for doing all of this. But you, Ela, helping him … How much did he promise you in return for playing along with his little psycho game? What’s the going rate for betraying your best friend?” Joanna’s eyes suddenly grow wide. “Wait … Or did this friendship never really exist from the beginning? Was it part of your plan as well? Just so there would be somebody who can confirm this insane story? Is that how it is, Ela?”