Strangers: A Novel(4)

Is it drugs, alcohol, shock, did someone attack her … did someone die? Joanna takes another step backward, and bumps into the floor lamp. It tips over. The glass shade shatters into pieces on the floor.

“Please,” she whispers, “Please don’t hurt me.”

I try to keep my voice even and calm. “For heaven’s sake,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

Another step toward me. I duck down a little, as if it could help, as if I could hid inside myself.

“I don’t have much money in the house, but I’ll give you everything I’ve got, OK? Take whatever you want.”

For a brief moment I feel irritation flaring up inside me, despite my bewilderment. “Is this some kind of joke?” My voice sounds harsher than I’d intended; I raise my palms to indicate she has nothing to fear. “Are you feeling unwell? Should I call a doctor?”

She shakes her head. “Just go, please. I promise I won’t call the police.”

I resist the fierce impulse to grab her by the arms and shake her and scream at her, to get her to stop all this nonsense. To be Joanna again. But I need to stay calm, it’s important that at least I keep a clear head. I take a few deep breaths, looking right into her eyes all the while. “What is all this? Why are you talking to me like this?”

“Because I’m scared,” she says hesitantly. “You know?”

“Of me?”

“Yes. You really scared me.”

“Joanna…”

Her expression changes in an odd way as I say her name. It’s as though she’s trying to read my face to find out what I’m thinking.

“Go away. Now.” I can feel she’s trying to make her voice sound firm. But it doesn’t work. She raises her hand slightly, and it’s only now I see that she’s clutching something. I try to make out what it is. The paperweight from the hallway. This whole thing is getting crazier and crazier. “Joanna…” I look deep into her eyes, trying to convey that she has no reason to fear me. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but please, stop it.”

“You stop it,” she responds, like a small brattish child. “Stop acting like we know each other and just go, please.”

This can’t be happening. I’m starting to worry Joanna might have completely lost her mind.

I take another careful step toward her, not knowing how I’m supposed to deal with this bizarre situation. I have to be careful not to lose control. “Will you give it a rest already; of course we know each other.”

Joanna shakes her head. “You’re mistaken, really. How, in your opinion, are we meant to know each other?”

I’ve had about enough of this, damn it. “Either you’re playing some twisted game with me, or I should get you straight to the hospital. We’re engaged, Jo. We live together.”

Her features crumble. This isn’t a game. She really doesn’t recognize me.

Suddenly, her hand shoots up without warning and something flies through the air at me. I turn sideways by reflex, but it’s too late. The glass cube strikes my shoulder, and a firework of pain explodes in my entire upper body. I hear myself groaning. I suddenly feel nauseous and, at the same time, like someone has kicked me in the back of the knees. My legs buckle; I crash down to the floor and groan again. Joanna flits past me, just a dark shadow, and, in the next instant, disappears from my field of vision.

Carefully, I feel around my shoulder.

I thought I knew Joanna well by now, but suddenly she seems like a stranger to me, so much so as if it were another woman in her body.

The pain in my shoulder is slowly subsiding. I prop myself up and struggle onto my feet. The living room sways. I take two, three careful steps, until I’m able to lean against the back of an armchair. My eyes wander over to the open living room door. Did Joanna run outside? Maybe she’s going to call the police.

She’s sick; I have no more doubts about that. Maybe she always has been. Maybe she knows it and just never told me. Maybe … yes, maybe I never knew who the real Joanna was until now. No, that’s not possible, it can’t be. I straighten up and take a scrutinizing look around. Nothing’s swaying. I’m standing firmly again.

Should I call the police myself? No, nonsense, what could the police do here? There was no burglary. My fiancée has lost her mind, but that’s something a doctor would need to tend to. A psychiatrist, even. I could call an emergency doctor. They’d probably commit her to a mental institution right away if they see her like this. And once she’s in one of those places … what with her being a foreigner and only having a temporary residence permit … No, first I have to try to talk to her again. Who knows what happened; maybe she’s just completely disorientated. For whatever reason.

I turn on the light in the hallway, and a violent pain surges through my shoulder. I take a deep breath and look around. The front door is shut. If Joanna had run outside, she would have either left it open or hastily slammed it shut, upset as she is. I would have heard that.

So she’s probably still in the house. I walk over to the stairs, look up, then pause. Something’s not right here, I can feel it. I slowly turn around and let my eyes wander through the hall again. The front door, the dresser next to it, the slip of paper on the floor, the coat rack … the coat rack. The realization feels like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. My things. They’re missing. There are two empty hooks where my jackets would usually be hanging. Below them, on the shelf … her sneakers, three pairs of casual shoes in different colors, but that’s it. They’re all hers. What the hell is going on here?