Strangers: A Novel(50)

It’s a battlefield. Blood is splattered across the worktop and walls, and there’s a smear of it across the front of the fridge too, from where Erik was leaning against it. But most of it is on the floor.

The knife is lying where I dropped it, on the cutting board right next to the tomatoes.

I see it all, and don’t understand any of it. All I know is that I can no longer trust myself, because the next time I might shove some child into the street or drive the car into a group of pedestrians or something like that. It’s understandable that Erik didn’t want me to take him to the hospital. It’s better that way.

I get a cloth and bucket from the cupboard containing the cleaning products, fill the bucket with hot water, and start washing away the blood. After that, I scrub the floor with a brush as well, cleaning it more thoroughly than anyone ever has before.

It’s not because I’m hoping to hide what happened; on the contrary, I’m assuming that Erik will report me as soon as his wound has been seen to. I’m even happy about that in a way. If they lock me up, I’ll no longer be solely responsible for myself. I’ll be kept away from everyone, able to breathe, and I’ll no longer have to be afraid I could hurt someone. Not even myself.

I clean the kitchen walls until my arms hurt and there’s no longer a trace of blood to be seen in the entire room. After that, I find myself wanting to carry on; the task is stopping me from having to think, saving me from the images, the guilt, the unspeakable fear of this … thing in me, that has moved me to …

The knife. I still haven’t cleaned the knife. It’s in the sink and has left a red smear on the silver basin. The stain on the blade shows how deeply it cut into …

I only just make it to the toilet in time. I throw up until my stomach is empty and the exhaustion numbs my senses. Now I can wash the knife; I’m able to bear the feeling of having it in my hand. Fear that I could suddenly turn it on myself and plunge it into my stomach or neck takes hold of me for a moment, but passes quickly.

I polish it until it shines, then put it back in the block.

Erik must have arrived at the hospital a while ago now. Maybe they’ve already given him stitches and are keeping him there overnight, on an antibiotic drip.

My phone is still on the coffee table, next to the sofa where we spent the afternoon. Laughing. Kissing.

I dial the number I saved in it earlier. Erik probably won’t pick up, but I could at least leave him a message. Tell him I’ll bring his things to the hospital if he needs. Tell him I’m sorry. So unbelievably sorry.

The number you dialed is not available.

That’s unusual. If I knew Erik better … or remembered him, then I’d know if he usually turns his voice mail on or not, or whether this is just an exception. Maybe he was on the phone? Or had no reception at the hospital?

I try again five minutes later, then again after ten. The same result.

What if the bleeding got stronger? If Erik lost consciousness at the steering wheel? If he …

I run up the stairs, into the study, and open my laptop. Which hospital was Erik most likely to have gone to?

I try the closest one, even though there’s no emergency department there.

“Good evening, my name is Joanna Berrigan, I’m looking for Ben…”

My God, what am I saying? Ben? Why does this name keep popping into my head?

“Sorry. I’m looking for Erik—” I am so anxious I can’t remember his surname. The one I only recently learned. It starts with a T, I’m sure of that, but then what? Thaler? Thanner?

“Who is it you want to speak to?” The woman at the other end of the line already sounds irritated, and although I don’t really care, it’s still enough to break down my composure.

“I’m looking for Erik … Thieben. Erik Thieben! He has a wound to his arm and was going to drive to the hospital. Is he with you? I can’t reach him on his phone and—please tell me if he’s with you.”

The woman clears her throat. “I can’t give you any information over the phone.”

“Why not?” Now I’m almost shouting. “Please! He’s my fiancé.” It feels like a lie. But if it is, then it’s his lie.

“If you want any information, you’ll have to come by in person with your ID.”

I hang up. Look for the next number, and try to sound calmer this time. But the result is the same.

Number three on the list is the hospital where Ela works. Ela. She wouldn’t brush me off, I’m sure of it. But first I’d have to tell her, admit what I’ve done. And I’m so ashamed. After all, she was the one who suggested I have myself committed. If I’d done that, none of this would have happened.

I pull myself together. Ela will find out anyway, so it’s better if it comes from me. Without any sugarcoating or hesitation.

She answers after the third ring. Even though I try to sound unemotional, she interrupts me after the first few words.

“What on earth is wrong, Jo? You sound awful! Did something else happen?”

My fingers grip the phone so tightly that its edges cut painfully into the palm of my hand. “Yes. Erik is injured. He drove to the hospital, and I can’t reach him.”

“Which hospital?”

“I don’t know.”

I hear Ela exhale loudly. “You don’t know? OK. Tell me exactly what happened.”