by Amy Cross
He tilted his head slightly.
I was just about ready to give up and hurry inside to collapse into an embarrassed puddle. Making my way toward my door, I realized I was already blushing. I wanted to say something, to introduce myself, but I figured he'd already written me off as a calamitous drunk and a bit of an idiot. Plus, I told myself that my knee-length black dress probably made him think I was a lady of the night. In which case, I was suddenly filled with a need to set the record straight.
“Neighbor,” I mumbled, turning to him with a faint, embarrassed smile as I held my key up for him to see. “Not a prostitute. I mean... I'm your neighbor.”
“Clearly,” he replied. “I assumed.”
“That I was your neighbor or that I'm a prostitute?”
“That you're my neighbor,” he said, with a faint smile.
I froze for a moment, feeling very much in the spotlight. I knew I should just go into my apartment and hide forever, but at the same time I also felt I'd spent a little too long in the stairwell to just disappear so quickly. I tried to work out what Belinda would do in this situation, and I quickly realized she'd probably be effortlessly chic and end up dragging the guy to bed. Belinda and I had always been very different. Opposites, you might say.
“Sorry,” I said finally.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For thinking you were thinking I was a...”
My voice trails off.
I tried to think of something.
“For intruding,” I said finally. “I mean... I was in your apartment earlier, or... Your grandfather's apartment, maybe? I thought maybe something was wrong, so I went in to check on him, and I think he was a bit annoyed.”
“He was?” The man still seemed a little amused by me. “Well, thank you for your concern, but I'm sure there's no long-term damage.”
“Can you tell him again that I'm really sorry?” I asked, stepping back against my door. “I really was just trying to help. I thought maybe he was sick, and his front door was wide open and...” I paused again, feeling woefully out of my depth. “Do you... Do you live with him? I thought he lived alone...”
“It's complicated,” he replied.
I nodded.
“You must forgive my... grandfather,” he continued. “Perhaps you caught him at a bad time. I'm quite sure you did nothing wrong, and it was very good of you to check on him. Please, I hope you don't feel as if you did anything wrong. His reaction was unnecessary and harsh.”
“Well, I guess I disturbed his afternoon nap.”
“Think no more of it,” the man replied, before pausing for a moment, as if there was something else he wanted to say. “Well,” he added finally, “it was very nice to meet you, Chloe. I hope you've had an enjoyable night, and I'm sure you're keen to get some rest. It's rather late, after all.”
“Do I look tired?” I asked, before realizing that he was right. Turning, I fumbled with my key until I finally managed to get my door open. Already seething with embarrassment, I figured I just needed to say goodnight and then make a quick, clean and dignified exit. There'd be time for withering self-mockery later. I took a deep breath, before turning back to the man and forcing a smile. “Good -”
He was gone.
I looked around, but his door was shut and there was no sign of him anywhere.
“Huh,” I muttered, figuring that he must have gone into the apartment. I waited for a moment, feeling just a little miffed that he'd disappeared so abruptly, and then I realized that my bed was calling. “Huh,” I said again, before swinging the door shut. And then, for a moment, I realized that the guy had called me by my name. Had I even told him my name?
I guess so.
Chapter Four
Matthias
How had I managed to hold back? How had I not swept her into my arms and kissed her, and confessed my undying love?
In truth, I had prepared long and hard for the moment. So many decades had passed since I'd last seen her face, and in that time I had managed to strengthen my resolve. I had forced myself to focus on the importance of what was going to happen, and I had reminded myself that I must not give in to temptation.
And whenever I had felt tempted, I had thought of Hugo, and of what had happened to him when he'd tried to ignore the laws of the world. Unlike my brother, I was able to constrain myself, even if my heart ached to see Chloe again and hold her tight.
Alone in the quiet of my apartment, I fought the urge to turn and go after her. I made my way toward the main room, but then I stopped as I noticed a note that had been left on the hall table. Reaching down, I picked the piece of paper up and saw a message scrawled by a familiar hand:
Don't worry, I'll find a chance to give it to her. Soon. XXX
Holding the note for a moment, I took a deep breath. There was still so much that could go wrong, yet I had no option other than to trust in the plan. To trust in Chloe.
Chapter Five
Chloe
His hands reached up from the bottom of the bed, running across my night-dress before reaching the shoulder-straps, which he began to ease aside.
I arched my back as I felt him pulling the night-dress down. The cool, silky fabric rippled over my bare breasts and then down to my belly. The fabric began to tighten as it reached my hips, but a moment later I heard a faint ripping sound as he tore the rest of the dress open and his fingers touched the flesh of my thighs. One hand moved deeper, as if reached between my legs, while the other hand moved up and cupped my breast tight.
I felt his hot breath against my neck, and then suddenly I heard a series of loud, piercing beeps starting to fill the air.
“What's that?” I gasped, looking around the room. “Do you hear it?”
***
I had never hated a sound as much as I hated my alarm clock that morning, as I opened my eyes and found myself staring up a the gray ceiling of my very un-steamy bedroom.
Having stirred me from the most incredible dream, the clock was blaring incessantly on the table next to my bed. Confused for a moment, I was still partially lost in my thoughts as I reached over to grab my phone, only for it to slip from my hands and land on the floor, still screaming at me to get up.
“Damn it,” I muttered, leaning over the side of the bed and fumbling for the phone. Tapping at the screen, I tried to stop the alarm, but the phone was fairly new and I still hadn't quite got it mastered. “Shut up,” I hissed, finally getting the damn thing unlocked but still not sure how to stop the screeching sound. “Shut up, shut up, shut -”
Finally the alarm was silenced and I slumped down, with my elbows on the floor and my legs still up on the bed. Not the most delicate of positions, and definitely a stark contrast to the dream I'd been enjoying just a moment earlier. For a few seconds, still sprawled in that ungainly pose between bed and floor, I allowed myself to revisit part of the dream, with the unseen man's fingers running across my bare flesh. I closed my eyes, wondering whether perhaps I could even go back into the dream and pick up where I'd left off.
His touch had been so soft, and he'd seemed to anticipate each move of my body even before I knew what I was going to do. Lost in a trance, I relived those passionate moments, and the way his hands reached down and his fingertips brushed against my -
Suddenly my alarm started again, making me jump. Grabbing the phone, I fumbled once again to turn the alarm off, and this time I made damn sure that it wasn't simply on snooze mode. Sighing, I got up and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, before realizing that I needed to get ready for work. Outside, a gray Parisian morning awaited, although I couldn't deny that the dream had left me feeling a little tingly and flustered. Somebody really needed to invent a machine that could record dreams, because I would have watched that one over and over again.
Heading through to the bathroom, I made sure to turn the shower temperature way down. When I forced myself to step into the stream of water, I let out a yelp that I'm quite sure could be heard for miles around.
&
nbsp; ***
“It's so awful,” a voice sobbed as I stepped out of the elevator. “I can't believe this could have happened.”
Before I'd made two steps toward my office door, I realized something was wrong. Although this was only my second week working at the agency, I'd pretty quickly become accustomed to the place being a hive of activity when I arrived. On that particular morning, however, everyone was sitting over by one particular desk, and there was a strange, hushed atmosphere. Glancing around, I saw that most of the computer terminals were still untouched, and that was a very clear sign that there was a problem.
My first thought was that the company had gone bust, and that we were going to be tossed out of the building at any moment.
“Hey,” I said cautiously, making my way over to join the others. “Is everything alright?”
As soon as Miriam turned to me, I saw tears in her eyes.
“What?” I asked, setting my bag down. “What's wrong?” I looked at the others, and I was starting to realize that something much more serious must have happened. “Is it a terrorist attack? Has there been another terrorist attack?”
“It's not that,” Miriam said, reaching out and putting a hand on my arm. “Didn't you hear?”
“Hear what?”
She opened her mouth to reply, before lowering her face and letting out a series of sobs.
“It's Belinda,” Liam said, putting an arm around Miriam to comfort her. “I'm sorry, Chloe, I know you two were close.”
“What's Belinda?” I asked, with a growing sense of panic. “What happened to Belinda? Did she get arrested? Does someone need to go and bail her out for something?”
“She's dead,” another voice gasped.
“What?” I frowned. Nothing made sense, and for a moment I couldn't work out why they were playing some kind of trick on me. “What are you talking about?” I continued. “Belinda's fine. I just saw her, we went out for drinks. She's not dead!”
“They found her yesterday afternoon,” Liam replied. “Didn't you see the news?”
“What news?” I asked, starting to panic but still convinced that there'd been some kind of miscommunication. “Can someone please tell me what's going on here?”
Handing me a tablet computer, Liam tapped the screen to bring up a news story. The words were in French, so I barely understood a thing, but the accompanying photo showed a group of police officers swarming around what appeared to be a dark little alleyway.
“A twenty-four-year-old woman was found murdered,” he explained, his voice trembling with shock. “They haven't released many details, but some blogs are saying she was horribly mutilated. The police haven't officially commented yet, but they called up the office this morning to let us know they want to come and talk to us.” He paused, his eyes wide with horror. “It's Belinda.”
“No,” I replied, as my hands started shaking, “it can't be. I was with her!”
Staring at the screen, I tried to make sense of what he was telling me. Belinda couldn't be dead, I knew that. Not only had I been with her a little more than twenty-four hours earlier, but Belinda was clearly not the kind of person who got murdered. People who got murdered were unlucky, or foolish, or naive, or quiet, whereas Belinda had always been brash and confident and street-smart. She was bulletproof.
I was way more murderable than Belinda.
Shaking my head, I scrolled down the web-page, but of course everything was in French and I still hadn't picked up much more than the vocabulary required to order a coffee and a croissant.
“I can't believe it,” Miriam sobbed. “What kind of person would do something like that?”
“I read something horrible on one of the blogs,” Jane added cautiously. “It said her body had been...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Well, maybe I shouldn't say. It's pretty gross. If anyone wants the link, I can send it.”
A couple of people nudged her arm and whispered something about getting the link by IM.
“Are you okay?” Liam asked, watching as I continued to stare at the tablet screen. “Chloe?” He paused for a moment, before touching my shoulder again as tears began to fill my eyes. “Hey Chloe,” he continued. “Are you okay? Chloe, say something. Chloe, you're starting to look really pale.”
***
I'd never been in shock before. Not really. Not the kind of true, all-consuming shock that renders your body completely useless and leaves you shivering and numb.
Not the shock I was feeling in that moment.
The tears had come and gone, and now I was sitting in my office. I'd turned the thermostat up, but still I felt chilled to the bone. I was shivering, but at the same time my head felt too blank and empty for me to actually do anything about it. All I could think about was that photo on the web-page, showing the police officers in the alleyway, and every few seconds my mind tried again to fill in the blanks.
I thought of the tight little black dress Belinda had been wearing the other night. I'd been kind of shocked by how much skin she'd been happy to show off, but now I imagined that same dress torn and ruined, and her flesh bloodied and covered in bruises. For some reason, my mind was coming up with the most horrible images, interspersed with seemingly random memories from that drunken night out.
“See you on Monday!” I remembered Belinda shouting as she'd waved to me at the entrance to the metro station. “Don't do anything I wouldn't! And stay safe!”
At the time, I'd felt so naive and innocent, like the little country mouse compared to her street-wise city fox. She'd seemed so collected and together, as if she had life all sussed out and under control. If I'd been told that one of us wouldn't make it home that night, that one of us would end up dumped in some dark little alley, I'd have assumed it would have been me. Anyone would have assumed that. The thought of anything bad happening to Belinda just seemed completely, hopelessly impossible.
Hearing a bump at the door, I suddenly realized someone had come into my office.
“I'm really sorry to disturb you,” Liam said, with none of the usual brash fizz in his voice, “but... the police have spoken to everyone else now. They need to have a word with you too.”
***
The officer wanted to know about Belinda's love life. Did she have a boyfriend?
No, I told him. Not that she ever mentioned to me, at least. She enjoyed playing the field, although she'd admitted during our night out that she'd taken a little break from men. She was constantly checking online dating apps, I added, but only as a distraction. I told him that I didn't think she'd met up with anyone for months. Then again, as I said those words, I began to wonder whether she'd been keeping something from me? Had there been a side of Belinda that I'd never seen?
Next he asked about Saturday night. Had we bumped into someone at one of the bars, someone who might have ended up following Belinda home?
I couldn't think of anyone. He asked me to take a moment, to really go over the events of the evening, but still I couldn't come up with anything that might help. I told him that we'd just gone from bar to bar, talking all the time, and that the only other people we'd spoken to had been barmen and waiters. I told him that I'd felt completely safe, and that Belinda had even commented on the fact that, as she'd put it: “we've been strutting our stuff for hours and not one asshole has tried to molest us. How disappointing is that?”
The officer seemed a little put-out by this information. Disappointed, maybe, as if I'd disrupted his pet theory. He made some notes, and then he crossed something out before sighing, turning to the next page, and writing something else.
I wasn't a bad friend, I told him.
He glanced at me, clearly confused.
I wasn't, I continued. I knew it wasn't something he needed to know, that I was just unloading unnecessarily, but at the same time I felt that I had to make myself clear. Every word that left my mouth seemed to exist far away, as if someone else was saying them.
I told him I felt bad for letting Belinda walk home alone.
/> I told him it was my fault she was dead.
He shook his head. He said I shouldn't think like that.
I knew he'd say that. I told him that if I'd walked Belinda home before taking the metro, she'd still be alive.
Again he told me not to blame myself, but I could see in his eyes that he knew it was true. He was trained to be supportive, and to say the right thing, but deep down he clearly understood what had happened. Belinda had been attacked because she'd been alone, because someone had seen her in a dark street and had decided he could snatch her and do whatever he wanted, and no-one would notice. If I'd been with her, that bastard would have simply stayed in the shadows and waited for another victim. Sure, someone still would have died, but it wouldn't have been my friend, and it wouldn't have been my fault.
As the officer started asking more questions, I tried to focus on his voice, but I was starting to notice a high-pitched whistling sound that seemed to be coming from the window.
Finally I interrupted the officer and asked him about the blog posts. I said I hadn't read them, but that I'd heard they gave gruesome details about what had been done to Belinda. I asked him whether those details were true. He told me not to think about it, and to definitely not look at the posts.
Chapter Six
Matthias
“Zieghoff was a monster!” a woman called out as I approached the steps at the front of the council building. “Don't make him a hero!”
Nearby, another – separate – crowd jeered and booed. Tensions were clearly running high, and it was clear that the meeting was going to be tense. After months of deliberation and delay, a panel was finally going to meet and decide what to do with the mansion home of Klaus Zieghoff. The main proposal was for the place to be demolished, but others wanted it to be used as a museum.
Stopping for a moment, I watched as police officers struggled to keep the two groups of protesters apart.