“Aren’t you here with your girlfriend?” I ask.
“My girlfriend?” he replies confused. Then he laughs and says, “You mean Angela? She’s my sister!” He laughs and then drags me over to Angela to tell her my mistake and then adds that they are never hanging out again ever.
“Is he flirting with you?” She asks.
“I think so, but clearly not very well if I thought you were his girlfriend.”
“Well if he’s bothering you I find if you just kick him firmly in the groin that tends to bring him down a peg or two.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Tom asks me again if I want to ride with him to which Angela tells him he’s too drunk to ride and says we can both come with her.
There are seven or eight cars outside the bar and as we walk outside they all begin to start up their engines. I see Anya the quant get into what I think is a Lamborghini. It looks like a car from a boy’s bedroom wall in the eighties and I can’t help but laugh at how outrageous and awesome it is.
Angela pulls Tom and I towards a battered old open top Cadillac and we all get in the back. It has that sofa-style seating you only see in old American cars where you can just slide along to the other side and by the time we’re moving there’s eight of us in it.
The beach is a twenty minute drive but it’s late and traffic is light. The night air is warm and as we speed along the highway it feels good flowing through my hair. On all sides I see people I recognise from the rooftop, a convoy of cars and bikes moving us all along an empty Belt Parkway, hugging the Brooklyn shoreline.
We’re near the front of our convoy but when we arrive there’s already a lot of people on the beach. I can hear music playing, there are campfires lit and I can see several kegs of beer too. Whatever this is, it’s clearly more than some impromptu gathering on the beach, though no one in our car seems to know what. Angela parks the car just off the beach; as we get out I see one of the NYU students we met right back at the start of the night and ask him if he knows what this is. He tells me that for all the Masters students at NYU today was the last day of their exams and it’s a tradition for them all to meet up on Brighton Beach and celebrate until the sun comes up.
Behind the beach Luna Park is lit up in all its glory, it looks beautiful against the night sky. It’s closing for the night but I tell Hiroki I want to go see it. Tom offers to walk with me and show me around, he came here a lot as a kid apparently. Hiroki thinks it’s a great idea and sends us off. It’s all a little bit ‘teens pushed in a cupboard’ but I’ve had enough drinks not to be too embarrassed.
He takes me along the promenade and we walk through Luna Park’s main entrance under four fluorescent circling spirals of light. The rides are all shut now but I don’t mind, I’ve never been much of a thrill seeker. I just want to get a feel for the place, I have a romanticised idea of old amusement parks. When I see it in the flesh it’s not everything I hoped for, there are a few too many modern touches to the place, but there’s still enough history here for me to get what I came for: the Coney Island Cyclone, the Thunderbolt, the Astrotower, all lit up in their neon splendour. Tom plays along, though I’m sure he’d rather be back at the party. He even manages to throw in a few bits of trivia about the place. It’s nice just the two of us, he seems very sweet. I can see he’s wanting to say something but he’s hesitating. I ask him if he’s okay.
“This is embarrassing. You didn’t answer when I asked you before and now it feels too late to ask, but... I don't know your name.”
“Tom, I'm shocked, Tom.”
“Am I just that drunk, because I really don’t think I am.”
“I didn't tell you. It’s nothing personal, it’s just my own little personality disorder, I’m not very forthcoming with personal information with new people.” I’m a little annoyed that I’ve had to reveal this private flaw to him.
“Do you not accept sweets from strangers either? You know I could just ask Anya.”
“I don’t think she knows my name either.”
“Hiroki then. Or Joan. Or someone else, someone here knows your name.”
We both fall silent for a moment, then we both laugh.
“Do you like it here?” He asks me.
“Yes.” I say.
“Maybe I could take you here again sometime?”
I hesitate here. “I don’t think so.” I reply.
“Please, I really want to see you again. Just name the time and place and I’ll be there.”
He looks at me and holds his breath. I should say no, I know I should say no. I look to the sky and then I tell him I’ll be outside the Flatiron Building at midday on Saturday, if he’s there we can go somewhere for a coffee. He exhales and then cries out to the night, clearly pleased with his work and I roll my eyes and smile at my moment of weakness. With that we start heading back to the beach. We rejoin the others who have gathered round the largest of the campfires. As we approach I look at them all smiling, talking, laughing; young dreamers sparkling in the August night, drunk on nothing to do, forgotten in their youth.
We all talk and drink and enjoy what’s left of the night. When the fires start to die we head to the pier. I think to myself a little patriotically that it’s nothing like Brighton Pier back home, which is like an amusement park on the water all by itself. This one is just a very long walkway out to sea. But this place has its charms, it’s a series of little worlds all next to each other extending out into the ocean. The fishermen who line the sides of it have all packed up for the day, but there’s still a few lines, buckets and other traces of them left behind. A few of the NYU boys say there’s a swell coming in from the Atlantic and they’re off to Long Island to surf the dawn waves but I want to stay here. I look out across the water. In the east we can see the first colours of the sunrise. I turn around and look back to the shore. The lights of Luna Park have been turned off now and all that’s left is its dark silhouette. The music on the beach has stopped and all I can hear is the sound of the ocean. It’s time for us to go home. I’m offered rides back to the city by the girls. I’m tempted by Anya’s Lamborghini which is still here but in the end say no. I’d rather we say goodnight here, it seems a better way to end the night with each of us going our separate ways.
It’s nearly dawn now and most of the beach party revellers have left. I never meant for tonight to happen. I know tomorrow is the price I’m going to pay for it, but I don’t regret it. Tonight was a little stolen moment where I got to forget all the shit in my life and just be a normal twenty-something for a bit. For that alone it was worth it.
2
The Q train takes me all the way back to Canal Street. From there I make my weary way over to the office. At the door the security guard that Hiroki introduced me to briefly on the way out the night before is standing there, alert and on duty. As I approach he gives me a wry smile and says, “Good morning Ms Witcham, I didn’t expect to see you here this early. Hiroki up to her old tricks again?”
Covering my exhausted face with tangled hair I embarrassedly mumble, “Not my finest hour wandering into the office like this, my first day in New York. If you could do me a favour and…”
“No one’s going to hear anything from me Ma’am.”
I thank him and shuffle my way into the office. Thankfully no one else has arrived yet. There’s a shower room which I take full advantage of after grabbing my travel bag from under my desk. When I finally emerge from it I can see the first few from the auctions team have arrived and are at their desks. I feel terrible and I don’t think I look much better, but I’ve at least avoided the ignominy of the New York office seeing me the morning after looking bedraggled, hungover and in yesterday’s clothes. I want to just go home and sleep but I’m very aware of, and annoyed by, how much time I’ve already lost from my night on the town and I don’t want to waste the day. I grab several cups of coffee from the office cafeteria to help jolt me back to life and try to make a start.
It’s mid-morning and I’m
not achieving much when Yan comes in to speak with me. I’m only half listening to what she’s saying when I suddenly understand what she’s telling me.
“You did what?!”
“I booked you an appointment with a police detective tomorrow.” says Yan, a little taken aback.
“Why?”
“So you can discuss the case with him and get the NYPD prepped for action when you find the painting.”
“Cancel it.” I tell her abruptly.
“Why?”
Not the easiest question to answer. The reason I want to cancel it is because I don’t want the police involved or trying to help me find the painting, but I can’t exactly tell Yan that.
“I’m not ready to meet with the police yet.” Is the best vague non-descript reason I can come up with.
“Oh that’s fine, he’s not expecting anything at this point, but he’s keen just to get the lines of communication open and understand what you’re doing.”
I’m too tired to argue with her and tell her I’ll do the meeting just to get her to leave. Yan’s excessive perkiness and overly helpful attitude is already starting to grate with me.
Kim arrives in the office around lunchtime which is one bit of good news. She had a few things to finish off in London so she decided to travel a day later than me; not a problem given all I’ve managed to achieve with my extra day here has been exhaustion. She seems pleased to be here though which I’m happy about. We manage to work through a couple of files together and she makes some headway calling around all the New York dealers, but progress is inevitably slow and I’m completely done by five o’clock. I pep myself up (again) with a rather dubious looking energy drink which gives me a short temporary boost but its effects are brief and by six I have to call time. Hiroki didn’t even bother to show up today. She’ll pass it off as meeting clients I’m sure. I tell Kim she should be getting home too, I collect my things and then do my best to avoid staggering out the door under the watchful eye of the people still in the office. When we spoke earlier Yan told me it’s not worth taking a cab at this time to Greenwich Village because I’ll be stuck in traffic for an hour and that the subway goes directly to fourteenth street which is only a few minutes’ walk from the apartment. But there’s no chance of me doing that with my luggage and the state I’m in. I’ll take my chances with the taxi.
There’s a line of cabs waiting outside the office and no queue. I jump straight into the first in line and just about manage to coherently mumble the address to the driver. After forty-five minutes of sub-pedestrian speed I’m beginning to understand the joys of Manhattan traffic. After an hour the driver kindly tells me we’re only a couple of blocks away from my building so if want I can get out here and go down the side road, otherwise it’s another half an hour in the taxi. I can make a couple of blocks.
I get out the cab and start to walk down the side road, a residential street off the main throughway. It’s a one-way street and doesn’t seem to be a road any of the traffic wants to take. The street is tree-lined and pretty, rows of brownstone houses line either side of it. It’s strange how quickly the city can change when you turn a corner. I check my phone and can see I’m very close now. There’s a man on the street who sees me struggling with my bags and asks me if I need any help, I tell him I’m fine. I keep walking and he heads the same way. We keep walking for another thirty seconds or so and then he asks me again, it feels slightly awkward. I’m as polite as I can be and tell him that I’m honestly fine and the bags aren’t heavy. I’m becoming aware though that it’s only him and me on the street. I look around as nonchalantly as possible to see if there’s anyone else nearby in case this becomes a problem but the street is empty, just the occasional car driving past.
I continue walking and the man seems to drop behind me to give me some space. In my head I’m already half asleep when suddenly there’s a hand over my mouth. Before I can react I’m being grabbed from behind, there’s an arm wrapped around my neck and I’m being dragged along the sidewalk. I’m pulled into a doorway for a building that’s being redeveloped and covered with scaffolding, hiding us from passing cars. I scream a muffled scream but there’s no one nearby to hear it. Whatever daze I was in instantly disappears, replaced with a desperate fear. In the glass of a window I can see the face of the man who’s holding me. He tells me in what sounds like a faded Eastern European accent to keep my mouth shut, but I can’t stop myself from telling him over and over in no uncertain terms that I don’t want any trouble, that he can take what he wants, to please not hurt me.
He moves me into a small inlet in the wall, we’re now completely out of sight from the street. His left arm is still wrapped tightly around my neck and making it hard for me to breathe. He raises his right hand and I can see he’s holding a black serrated combat knife. He holds the blade out in front of my face. My body is rigid, paralysed.
“Give me your purse.”
I fumble quickly into my bag and hand it over.
“Give me your phone.”
I reach into my bag again and hand it over, but as soon as I do it he throws the phone down on the ground before stamping on it with his boot, smashing it beyond repair.
“I know who you are… Ms Witcham.”
If I was scared before, now I’m terrified. This has been planned.
“I’ve got a message for you. Stop looking for the Lost Child.”
He waits for my response. I’m too scared to speak but begin nodding my head furiously and mumbling noises to try and make sure he knows I understand and agree. Then he smashes his left arm into the side of my head and sends me sprawling into a pile of boxes and rubbish that smell rancid. I lie there shocked and still. I can hear the man run off. He leaves me there dazed and my head thumping with every thunderous heartbeat.
I pull myself slowly up off the ground and gather up my things but I don’t know where to go, what to do. No phone, no purse, no keys. With what little mental faculties I have left the only thing I can think to do is try and keep walking to the apartment building.
I start to walk, I don’t know how long I’m walking for, but somehow I make it to the apartment building. There’s a concierge inside and he immediately sees I’m in distress. He runs out from behind the desk and sits me down on a bench in the entrance lobby. I tell him that I’ve been mugged. He asks if I need a doctor or if he should call the police. I tell him no, I’m okay, I just need to rest. I tell him who I am which thankfully immediately registers with him. He says he’s been expecting me and that Mr. Armitage has left a set of keys for me. He asks again if he can call me a doctor, he’s worried I have a concussion. I tell him I just want to go to the apartment. He reluctantly agrees but only on the condition that I’ll have a friend come over to look after me. I don’t want to do it but Hiroki is the only person I feel comfortable asking so I give him her name to call at the office. I hope she isn’t there.
I find my way up to the apartment and without turning a light on, close the door behind me and collapse onto the floor. A surge of exhaustion, relief, fear, anger and a dozen other emotions sweeps over me and I start crying right there on the floor, I’m near delirious. As I lie there terrible thoughts begin to seep into my conscience. I already know what’s coming, I can feel it, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m terrified, I start screaming out “No, no, no!”. A darkness falls over me and I slip into a waking dream.
I’m standing alone in a field while an unnatural sky moves above me. I can feel cold water drops raining down on my open hands but no clouds are above me. An enormous black crow flies across the horizon and starts to circle, bearing down upon me. My body shivers, I wrap my arms around me and hide at the foot of a giant oak. The ground is soft beneath me and I can feel myself sinking into the wet earth. The crow moves ever closer. I writhe and shake in fear but every move I make my limbs become heavier and I fall deeper and deeper into the earth. The black crow stands over me, its wings outstretched, casting its long, dark shadow. I know there is no esc
ape.
3
I don’t know when it ends. I wasn’t sure if it ever would, there was no Jack to save me this time. But somewhere in the nightmare a hand pulls me out and saves me from my delirium. When I open my eyes the sun is up and Hiroki is at the foot of the bed. The concierge must have let her in, she’s been here all night.
She eyes with me uncertainty from the foot of the bed, she’s worried about me. She thought she knew me but she doesn’t recognise the girl in front of her. Last night my mask slipped and she saw all the demons I try to hide from the outside world. She asks me how I’m feeling. I lie and tell her I’m okay. She has a glass of water for me which I drink. She says the concierge called her about the attack, she asks me what happened. It turns out that’s the easier thing to talk to her about. I tell her a man grabbed me on the street and held me at knifepoint. He smashed my phone and took my purse; I’m sharp enough to omit the details about the painting. She looks horrified. The streets are safe in Manhattan these days, she says. She didn’t think this sort of thing happened any more.
We leave it at that, but both of us know what came next and it can’t be ignored. It’s awkward, neither of us know what to say. I can’t bring myself to talk about it directly but I break the silence to thank her for looking after me last night. She asks me what happened. I lie saying it was just a flashback to the mugging. She says she understands, that it must have been terrifying. But then she pauses, the first time I think I’ve ever seen her look uncertain about anything, and she asks me if it was maybe something else as well, that perhaps it was something more. I don’t know what to say. She can see I’m uncomfortable and that I don’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t push me any more, she simply says, “If you feel like talking about it, just let me know, okay.”
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