Strangers: A Novel(27)

“All right then, Erik.” Gabor gets up and straightens his tie. I get up too. “I haven’t met your significant other, but do give her my regards. And if you need any help—my door is always open.”

“Thank you,” I say, gripping his hand. Then I start making my way back downstairs. A vacation. If Gabor thinks it’ll be that easy to sideline me, he’s dead wrong.

In my office, I log on to my computer and check my emails. A few appointment requests, messages from external project staff, offers from various companies. The usual. My coworkers in the office next door are all busy; there aren’t any problems. Fortunately, Nadine refrains from asking me in front of all the others about what Gabor wanted.

I answer the most important emails, but find it hard to concentrate. My thoughts keep straying back and forth between Gabor and Joanna. I really want to call her and ask how she’s doing, but I leave it. I don’t want her to think I’m keeping tabs on her.

I still need to go get some clothes. I take the suitcase containing my toiletries and the things I’ve been wearing with me. Roughly an hour later, I have two new pairs of jeans, three polo shirts, and two work shirts. I also buy a couple of three-pair underwear packs and five pairs of dark socks from another store. With all of that, I should be well-equipped for the next few days.

The journey home takes far too long for my liking. The closer I get, with every few feet I drive, the more nervous I get. How’s Joanna doing? Is she even still there? And if so, will she be by herself? Or will there be a couple of policemen waiting for me as well, wanting to find out what the deal is with this bizarre story Joanna’s just told them?

It’s half past five when I park next to the Golf and walk to the front door, my knees shaky.

In the hall, I stop and listen. I can’t hear anything apart from my own pulse.

“Jo?” I don’t know why I’m calling her name out so faintly, so I try it again, louder this time.

“Jo? Are you there?”

Nothing.

She’s actually gone. Despite everything that’s happened, I didn’t really expect she’d actually run away. On foot. Her car is still outside, after all.

The sensation of immense loss starts spreading through me. It feels like it’s draining all my energy. I have difficulty standing upright from one moment to the next; I just want to lie on the ground and stop moving altogether.

But wait—I haven’t looked upstairs yet. Maybe Joanna just went to lie down? With everything she’s going through right now, she must be exhausted.

Without missing a beat, I run to the stairs, take two steps at once. I stop at the top, pause for a moment, then continue as quietly as possible. I don’t want to startle her.

The bedroom door has been left ajar. I carefully give it a push. And in the very same moment I see the empty bed, I also hear a crashing sound. It sounds like it came from the bathroom. Only now do I notice the pattering noise in the background. The shower.

Five swift steps, six. The bathroom door isn’t locked.

A cloud of warm steam billows toward me. The large mirror is all misted up, the plexiglass shower only in parts. Joanna’s contorted figure is lying on the shower floor.

“Jo!” I scream. I jerk open the shower stall door. Water sprays in my face, soaking me through and through in mere seconds. “Oh my God, Jo.”

My movements erratic, I turn off the water and bend down. My hands slip off Joanna’s wet body; I bang my elbow on the edge of the shower. Finally I manage to pull her up a bit. I look over her body. No visible injuries. Her eyes are closed. I carefully lift her out of the shower, and at the same time realize I’m starting to feel nauseous. My head hurts. What’s happening to me?

My eyes wander through the bathroom. Sink, closet, hot-water boiler … the boiler? I try to stand up, and slip on the wet floor. Finally I manage to push myself up, make it over to the window, and yank it open. Don’t throw up. Not now.

I quickly lean out of the window, take a deep breath, another; then I turn around. I’ve got to get Joanna out of here. I grab her by the hands and drag her across the tiled floor out of the bathroom. Across the hall, into the bedroom. The first thing I do there is open the window; then I heave Joanna onto the bed. Panting, I set my ear onto her chest. She’s breathing. Her breaths are shallow, but she’s breathing. Thank goodness.

I want to collapse down next to her on the bed, but I need to go back into the bathroom first. I hold my breath as I close the gas valve on the boiler.

I stagger back into the bedroom, needing to brace myself against the wall in the hall as I go. Then I fall onto the bed next to Joanna. What should I do now? I have to call an ambulance. Arduously I push myself up to go look for the telephone.

At that moment, another thought hits me. The boiler in the bathroom. It was serviced just three weeks ago. And now it might have almost killed Joanna.

How is that possible?





13

Light.

A wall. A window. Out of focus. It’s hard to keep my eyes open.

Too hard.

Someone touches my shoulder. Shakes me.

“Jo! Don’t fall asleep again! Stay awake, OK? Look at me!”

A dark silhouette over me. A face. A stranger’s face.

Or no … Not a stranger. Worse than that.

A hand caresses me, my head, my cheek. “The ambulance is almost here. They’re coming as fast as they can. Are you feeling sick? Can you breathe?”