Strangers: A Novel(19)
Ela ends the call and hands Erik back his phone. “We’ll take both cars,” she says, “and Joanna can choose who she wants to go with. In case it … takes a while. I’ll need to get some sleep at some point, as much as I hate to say it.” She yawns, as if wanting to emphasize her words.
She’s planning to leave me alone with him. Just because she’s tired!
On the way downstairs, there’s not one single opportunity to flee. Not as we leave the elevator, not on the street. They flank me, always close enough to be able to quickly grab me in case I try to run away.
“I’ll go in Ela’s car.”
Her small blue Honda is parked around the corner. I notice that she still hadn’t fixed the dent on the right-hand fender. I remember the dent, just as I remember the story of how it happened. I remember everything, for God’s sake. I’m fine.
The sentence makes me feel good. I repeat it silently to myself, again and again. I’m fine.
As I get into the car, I see Erik gesture in Ela’s direction. A twisting motion with his wrist. A signal to lock the car door.
Of course. He doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me. Ela tries to press the button for the central locking as casually as possible, but of course she notices that I notice.
We stay silent during the journey. The Audi is always in sight, either alongside us or in front, a glimmering silver shadow.
Then, shortly before we reach our destination, a new thought shoots into my mind, even worse than its predecessor.
What if this Erik guy isn’t the driving force between the events of the last day? What if it’s Ela instead? She’s known me for over six months; she knows about my family’s fortune. We’ve spoken about money from time to time. I know that she doesn’t have much of it, and I also know that Richard has desperately been trying to find start-up capital for his freelance venture for a while now, but without success.
I actually offered to help a while ago, and neither of them had wanted to accept it. But perhaps only because they wanted much more?
Erik could be an actor who Ela has hired and instructed. That would also explain why he keeps tearing up when I push him away from me. Technique. Unfortunately, this is precisely the kind of story that would make me sound completely crazy if I told it to a doctor.
Ela parks the Honda. “Everything OK, Jo?”
I nod and try to get out, but the door is still locked. I hit my hand against it with a force that surprises even me. I pound my knuckles against the metal, again and again; it hurts, but I can’t stop.
“What are you doing?” Ela grabs my arms and holds onto them tightly. “Jo! Please!”
The back of my right hand throbs and burns. I feel a strong, almost overwhelming urge to bang my head against the car door as well.
I take a few deep breaths, and it gradually dissipates.
The expression in Ela’s eyes is one of utter perplexity.
“Get me to this doctor,” I say. “Quickly.”
The waiting room is quiet. Just an elderly woman and a young man. And the three of us. Erik sorts out the paperwork with the receptionist; he has my passport and my insurance card. All the documents that I so urgently need.
The elderly woman is called in a short while later. I prepare myself for a long wait. We’ve arrived early, but I’d rather sit here than in Ela’s apartment.
There is a single dark spot on the otherwise immaculate marble-tiled floor. I fixate on it. Count my breaths, in and out. My wrist is hurting more by the minute; it’s probably swollen, and the most inconceivable part is that the pain feels good.
Really good.
I curl my right hand into a fist and feel new barbs of pain shoot through it. If I’m not careful, I’ll start laughing.
I really hope this doctor knows her stuff.
* * *
By my reckoning, Dr. Verena Schattauer is in her late fifties, and right away she forbids Erik or Ela from accompanying me into the examination room. I take an instant liking to her.
Because of this, it’s easy for me to give her a summary of what happened since last night. It’s not even been a day yet, for God’s sake, and my life has been turned completely upside down.
I am as honest as I’m able to be. The only thing I keep quiet about is what happened just now in the car. About the fact that I clearly have an underlying need to injure myself.
“He’s utterly convinced that he’s right, and now even my best friend is taking his side. And yet there’s not a single thing in my house that belongs to him. No books, no clothes, not even a toothbrush. But he’s disregarding that, they both are.”
The doctor looks at me, her expression solemn. She has made a few notes, but mainly she just listens to me, with an attentiveness that’s almost tangible.
“It’s … as though I’m standing in front of a red wall, and everyone’s telling me it’s blue. I can try as hard as I want—but for me it stays red. I don’t see any other color. I know it’s red, but I can’t prove it to anyone. How could I?”
Dr. Schattauer nods compassionately. “Yes, I understand what you mean. Let’s summarize one more time: you can remember everything, you say, short-term memories as well as long-term—everything except this man called Erik.”
“Exactly.” I suddenly become aware of how it must sound. “I know that if it turns out Erik is telling the truth then I must really be sick, there’s no other explanation…” My words are too hasty, each one running into the next, stumbling over one another.