A Gift for Dying

by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘Great. How did that g—’

  ‘Too soon,’ was the brief response.

  ‘Of course, no need to rush. One step at a time.’

  He had said the latter phrase so many times in the last few days that it already sounded like a cliché. Faith didn’t respond, replacing the kettle on the stand and handing him a cup of tea.

  ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Ok. I made most of the calls I needed to.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Still a few more to do, but I’ve got their numbers. I can do them from here …’

  Adam petered out, pointedly turning his attention to his tea. He’d decided not to tell Faith about his encounter with Kassie, but she was still looking at him, expecting more.

  ‘Is everything ok? You look … tense.’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ he replied tightly.

  ‘So …?’

  She was staring directly at him, allowing no room for evasion or obfuscation.

  ‘Kassie came to see me. At the office.’

  ‘Right,’ Faith replied warily. ‘What did she want?’

  Adam wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘She wanted help.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘She had another episode.’

  ‘Another vision?’

  Adam nod-shrugged. He didn’t like to call them that.

  ‘And? Did she tell you who it involved?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So …?’

  ‘So nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I … I sent her away.’

  Even as he said it, he felt a little ashamed.

  ‘What?’ Faith responded, sounding genuinely shocked.

  ‘I didn’t want to … but I can’t get involved with her right now. We’ve got too much on our plates –’

  ‘This is work –’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So it’s got nothing to do with us and if you can help her –’

  ‘I’ve told her I can’t, so there’s no point discuss—’

  ‘I think you should reconsider.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m not a fucking china doll.’

  The words shot out, hard and angry. Adam looked up at his wife, could see the emotion bubbling just beneath the surface.

  ‘I know you’re trying to help me,’ Faith continued, struggling to master herself. ‘But I’m a big girl. I’ll get through it.’

  ‘I just want to make sure –’

  ‘And being treated like a child is not going to help. Shitty as it is … life goes on.’

  Adam couldn’t deny that. Much as he’d wanted to blot out the world during the past few days, life kept on intruding.

  ‘So, if Kassie is in trouble, if she needs you enough to seek you out at your office …’ She fixed him directly in the eye as she concluded: ‘… then you must help her.’

  48

  ‘Have a seat, kochanie, and something to eat.’

  Kassie was struggling to take in the scene in front of her. Her mother was sitting at the table, smartly dressed in a pretty, floral-print dress with a smile stretched across her face. In front of her was a small feast – lots of Polish delicacies of course, but a few American treats too that generally were not allowed.

  ‘Please …’

  Kassie seated herself cautiously and began to nibble an Oreo. The whole situation was so staged, so forced, that Kassie half expected her mother to produce a nice Polish boy for her to marry, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. She had been expecting the usual interrogation, or at least a bout of recrimination, but not this.

  ‘How was your day? How was your … NA meeting?’

  Her mother had so far avoided any mention of her latest round of addiction counselling, so this was another alarming note.

  ‘It was good, thanks,’ she lied clumsily.

  Kassie had returned home in despondent mood, racking her brains as to how she might get Rochelle’s address or cell number. She had no idea of her last name, no friends within the group, and, after today’s performance, it was highly unlikely that any of them would take Kassie into their confidence. Not that her mother knew – or cared – about that.

  ‘How was your day?’ Kassie continued, fumbling an attempt at conversation.

  ‘It was fine, thank you. I went to church after work, so I visited the deli there, picked up a few of your favourite treats …’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kassie murmured, picking up her fork and leaning over to spear a dumpling.

  Kassie slid it into her mouth, before helping herself to a slice of stuffed cabbage and disposing of that too. Her mother let her eat for a few minutes, before resuming their conversation.

  ‘I was speaking to Father Nowak the other day …’

  Kassie’s fork stopped in mid-air, as she turned to look at her mother. Now they were getting to the meat of this particular feast.

  ‘You remember Father Nowak?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Kassie was tempted to add, ‘How could I forget?’ but resisted.

  ‘He certainly remembers you and is very keen to see you back at church.’

  ‘Sure, whatever,’ Kassie replied inconclusively.

  ‘I was thinking we might go today, after you’ve eaten of course …’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘There’s a service starting in one hour. We could easily make it.’

  She had already done the math, probably knew exactly what time the No. 22 bus would turn up, so though a trip to St Stanislaus Kostka was the very last thing Kassie wanted, there was no point fighting it. She suspected her mother would spontaneously combust if she refused, and, besides, she could use the service as thinking time – somehow she had to find Rochelle.

  The journey across town was uneventful and before long they were in the cavernous church that Kassie remembered so well from her early years. The service was just beginning, so they took their seats quickly, three rows from the front. Even as they sat down, Kassie saw a look pass between her mother and the portly priest. Clearly this whole thing was a set-up, hatched by a concerned mother and her benevolent confessor.

  Kassie tried to push her growing anger aside and concentrate on what was being said – she owed her mother that at least. There were Father Nowak’s usual introduction, then the Invocation, then the Liturgy, and before long Kassie found herself dropping down on to her prayer cushion, as the Eucharistic prayers commenced.

  ‘The Lord be with you …’

  She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, muttering the words that came automatically to her.

  ‘And with your spirit.’

  She wanted to focus on their meaning, to see if they held any residual power for her, but her mind kept straying to Rochelle and she found it hard to concentrate. An elbow in the ribs suggested her mother had noticed her distraction – was she making noises again? – so she redoubled her efforts.

  ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord …’

  But now she became aware of something else, another distraction. Someone’s cell phone was ringing. No, her cell was ringing.

  She plucked it out and looked at the screen. A few people had turned to look at them and her mother gripped her by the wrist.

  ‘Turn it off,’ her mother hissed.

  But Kassie was already pulling away from her. The caller was Adam Brandt.

  At last, someone had answered her prayers.

  49

  ‘When we get there, I’ll do the talking. You stay in the car.’

  Kassie didn’t look happy with this suggestion, but she shrugged her acquiescence. Whether Adam could rely on her to honour this deal when it came to it was another matter entirely.

  ‘What are you going to say to her?’

  ‘I’m going to say that I heard about the incident at today’s session and that I wanted to check that she was ok, to apologize.’

  Adam knew Roche
lle Stevens, having met her at several industry seminars. Not well enough to call on her at home really, but he thought he could get away with it, and if it helped to calm Kassie, it would be worth it.

  ‘And then what?’ Kassie interrupted, intruding on his thoughts.

  ‘Then nothing. We are doing this to reassure you, not to freak her out.’

  ‘Just because she’s ok now doesn’t mean she will be later –’

  ‘Look, I’m not sure what else we can do,’ Adam replied impatiently. ‘Unless you want me to lock her up.’

  Kassie was about to respond, but Adam saw it coming and talked over her.

  ‘So, we’ll stick to the plan. We’ll check she’s ok and then we’ll be on our way. Your mother’s probably already freaking out as it is.’

  ‘I’ll deal with her.’

  Adam wasn’t sure exactly how Kassie was planning to do this and in an unchivalrous moment hoped she wouldn’t drag his name into it. What he was doing was unprofessional and unethical – not to mention foolhardy.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said steadily, as they turned into Washington Close.

  The road was quiet and dimly lit, but the house numbers were clearly marked and Adam counted them down as they crawled along the tarmac.

  ‘Twenty … eighteen … sixteen …’

  No. 14 came into view and Adam guided the car gently to the kerb.

  ‘Stay,’ he said warningly, as he opened the driver’s door.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m not a dog,’ she responded, irritably.

  Adam didn’t linger to hear the rest, shutting the car door and marching away. The house seemed lifeless, dark inside save for a single light burning on the first floor. Swallowing his misgivings, he walked quickly up to the front door and pressed the doorbell.

  It sounded, long and loud, echoing through the house. Adam’s anxiety was mounting – what would he say to her? – but there was no sign of movement within. So he rang again, keeping his finger pressed down this time.

  ‘Well?’

  Adam withdrew his finger and turned to find Kassie standing next to him.

  ‘I told you to stay in the –’

  ‘Any sign of her?’

  ‘Not that I can see.’

  Abandoning the front door, Kassie pressed her face up against a window. Squinting, she tried to penetrate the darkness within.

  ‘I can see her bag. She had it with her this afternoon. And her cell is on the hall table, so she definitely came home.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s gone to bed.’

  ‘She’s not answering the door. And it’s hardly late.’

  ‘Maybe she’s gone out?’ Adam replied.

  ‘Without her phone and bag?’

  Kassie was already on the move, marching up to the garage door and trying the handle. But it remained locked and unyielding. Adam cast a nervous look across the street.

  ‘Kassie. Come away from there.’

  But his hissed warning had no effect. Instead, Kassie moved off again, rounding the front of the house and disappearing down a passageway to the side. Wary of drawing attention to himself, Adam decided against calling out again and hurried after her instead.

  He found her in the backyard, peering intently through the French windows.

  ‘Locked.’

  She banged on the window. But it elicited no response inside. Adam turned to her once more.

  ‘Ok, we’ve done all we can do for now. I’ll text her, asking her to call me in the morn—’

  But Kassie was already climbing up on to the windowsill.

  ‘Kassie, what are you doing?’

  ‘The French windows are only bolted at the top, so if I can get a hand in …’

  ‘And how do you intend to –’

  Kassie rammed her elbow through a tiny feature window. Brushing the glass away, she covered her hand with her sleeve and reached inside to slide the bolt open, before jumping down once more. Teasing open the French windows, she turned to Adam and whispered:

  ‘Coming?’

  50

  ‘Hello?’

  Kassie’s voice echoed round the interior of the house, but there was no reply. Adam joined her, stepping carefully over the broken glass. She half expected him to grab her and drag her out again but, shooting an irritated look at her, he strode past her and shouted:

  ‘Rochelle?’

  Silence filled the house.

  ‘Rochelle, it’s me, Adam Brandt. There’s no reason to be afraid, but if you are here, perhaps you could come down?’

  There was no response, but a slight creak upstairs made their ears prick up.

  ‘Rochelle?’

  Still nothing. Kassie stepped cautiously into the living area. It was gloomy, empty, so she moved forward into the hall. Immediately her eyes fell on Rochelle’s shoulder bag and the cell phone and keys on the table. She reached out to pick them up, but Adam put his hand on hers to stop her.

  ‘Don’t get yourself in any deeper than you already have.’

  For once Kassie did as she was asked. Adam passed her now, poking his nose into the small kitchen. But there was nothing of any interest there, so, turning, they mounted the stairs to the second floor. The third step creaked loudly and, wincing, Adam changed his route, keeping close to the edge of the boards. Kassie followed suit and they soon found themselves on the upstairs landing.

  Only two doors led off it, both to small bedrooms. Kassie stepped cautiously into the first one, but, flicking on the light, she found an ordinary guest bedroom. The bed was neatly made, freshly laundered clothes were hanging on a rack nearby and as Kassie ran her finger along the chest of drawers next to her, she discovered that a thin film of dust coated the surface.

  Turning, she joined Adam in the master bedroom. There were framed photos here, a full linen bin and one of the closet doors was ajar, but otherwise the room was neat and tidy. Adam teased open the closet and again Kassie held her breath – foolishly, she knew, as she didn’t really expect anyone to be in there – before turning away to investigate the linen bin. She wasn’t surprised to find the dress that Rochelle had been wearing earlier stuffed in it at the top, alongside a bra, panties and a pair of tights.

  The sight of these made Kassie feel inexplicably tense. Had she changed and gone somewhere? Or had she been attacked while naked and vulnerable? Marching forward, she pushed open the bathroom door. It was warmer than the bedroom, a little humid too, but, as with the other rooms, everything seemed to be in order. There was no sign of disruption, or a struggle … or Rochelle.

  ‘So?’

  Adam had joined her. Kassie studied the bathroom, saying nothing.

  ‘She’s not here, Kassie. And nothing’s out of place.’

  ‘She obviously came home, went for a shower …’

  ‘Like normal people do.’

  ‘Something’s not right. Why would she go out without her purse, her phone?’

  ‘Perhaps she forgot them. Or popped out to visit a neighbour.’

  ‘I don’t buy it.’

  ‘Look around you, Kassie. There’s no sign of the bogeyman.’

  Kassie gave Adam a dirty look – didn’t like his tone – and moved away. She knew he was here on sufferance, but she wasn’t prepared to be mocked.

  She scanned the sink, the mirror, the shower. The screen was still wet and kneeling down she ran her fingers over the surface of the shower mat. It was wet – no, it was saturated.

  Immediately Kassie’s mind began to turn. Why was it so wet? Was it possible that Rochelle had been attacked while showering? That her attacker had used the mat to mop up the spilled water? Or was it possible she had got it all wrong? That the scene in front of her was entirely innocent? Whatever the reason, she wouldn’t get the chance to speculate further, because she now felt Adam’s hand on her arm.

  ‘That’s enough now, Kassie. It’s time to go.’

  51

  Her lips moved silently, but relentlessly. Head down, her hands clasped together, she was pleading for me
rcy.

  St Stanislaus was all but deserted and Natalia cut a lonely figure among the empty pews. The worshippers had departed and Father Nowak had retired to attend to some administrative matters, much to Natalia’s relief given Kassandra’s sudden, unforgivable departure. She had promised to bring her to heel, to help her connect with the church again, but Natalia’s lack of control, her lack of authority, had been cruelly exposed by her daughter’s disobedience. Nobody had said anything of course, but Natalia was sure they were all talking about her – another black mark against the family. This she could handle, she was used to the elderly housewives gossiping, but it was the look of disappointment on Father Nowak’s face which had cut deep.

  Embarrassment had turned to fury, then eventually to despair. She had tried to put her foot down, she had tried to be nice, but nothing was working. She felt helpless, alone, and not for the first time cursed her husband for departing this life so early, leaving her to soldier on by herself. As ever when these dark thoughts assailed her, she turned to God. She had always been a dutiful Christian, raising money for the church, going on peace marches, praying for the Holy Father every day, and she felt sure that she would not be deserted in her hour of need. So she prayed fiercely, relentlessly, mouthing the words that would bring her – and Kassie – salvation.

  But somehow they weren’t landing tonight. The wind had picked up steadily throughout the service, as it often did in Chicago, whistling through the huge church. Wood creaked, doors banged, shutters turned on their hinges – during the service Father Nowak had had to turn the volume up on his microphone to be heard above the racket. Since then, the ferocity of the wind had only increased. Natalia wasn’t one to be paranoid, but it seemed tonight as though the more she prayed, the more violent the wind became. Was it possible God was angry with her? For her failures? For her weakness?

  Bang! A shutter slapped the fabric of the church once more, making Natalia jump. She raised her voice, saying the words out loud now, fighting nature’s interruption. Bang! Bang! The response was swift and violent, the volume rising another notch. Now the wind was shrieking through the church, seeking out the tiny gaps and cracks, ruffling hymnals, blowing newsletters up into the air. Clamping her eyes shut, Natalia persevered, calling out now for God’s mercy, for his guidance. Bang! Bang! Bang!