The Disappeared

by Amy Lord

  I chose my moment carefully. I wanted to deliver my final blow just when I was sure he relied on me; that he’d come to need me.

  ‘I should thank you, Professor. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have met her.’

  Uncertainty flickered across his face.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean…’

  ‘Well, if you hadn’t been scuttling around with your books and your secret classes, like a rodent, I’d never have been assigned to watch you. I’d never have been given permission to arrest you. And then I might never have met Lucia.’

  He stared at me, the foolish smile stuck on his face, stretched a little too wide. I could see a nerve in his cheek twitching as he tried to process the words. He didn’t want to believe them.

  ‘I’m going to marry her.’

  Slowly his lips tightened, the smile stripped away, his face falling apart. It was like looking at a real-life Picasso. I’d seen one of his paintings once, in a museum, on a school trip to France. I’d been more interested in spraying my friend with spit balls, as the other kids listened solemnly to the tour guide. The teacher dragged us outside by our arms, two writhing eleven-year-old boys in school uniform. My father tanned my arse when he found out about that incident.

  ‘You can’t,’ the professor said. ‘She’s my wife.’

  We were in one of the less secure interrogation rooms. He was seated at a table, his hands shackled as usual, chained to a metal ring in the floor. He banged his hands suddenly on the table.

  ‘She’s my wife.’

  I shrugged, all at once tired of the game. ‘Not for much longer.’ I reached inside my jacket and pulled out a long envelope containing a sheaf of papers. His eyes fixed on me as I drew them out and placed them on the table in front of him.

  I pulled out my fountain pen and slowly uncapped it, watching from the corner of my eye as he scanned the document.

  ‘Annulment papers.’ His shoulders stiffened. ‘You want me to annul my marriage. How would that even be legal? We have a child for god’s sake; we’ve been married for fifteen years.’

  I curled my lip, dismissing him. ‘But you’re not a person any more. It’s amazing the things that become possible when someone is arrested. You might be here, against all the odds, but you’re not really alive. We’ve done our best to whitewash your existence. But it would be better if we had your signature.’ I laid the pen carefully on the table. ‘It would make it easier for Lucia; make it proper. There’d be no stain on her. Or on Clara.’

  I knew that would provoke a reaction. ‘Don’t you say their names,’ he cried, shoulders trembling. ‘You don’t get to say their names!’

  I scratched my cheek innocently. ‘I get to do more than that. Who do you think keeps me warm at night when you’re tucked up in your little cell?’

  He screamed, a guttural, animal sound that burned out through his chest, tearing open every wound the previous months had inflicted. I gave him time. I didn’t try to soothe him or apologise. I couldn’t make it better for him now.

  But when he came down from the heights of his own pain, I held out my olive branch, the way I’d planned all along. ‘I have something for you that I think you’ll enjoy.’

  His eyes were empty. I didn’t know if he’d heard me. But I went out into the corridor anyway, to fetch my prize.

  Lucia came into the room, her eyes wide and fearful. I watched her closely as she caught sight of him. She held herself well, but there was a twitch in her right cheek; I saw her eyelid flicker. Her hands were drawn in tight, fingernails digging into her palms.

  ‘Hello Matthew.’

  He didn’t believe what he was seeing. All his dreams and his nightmares folded into one, standing in the corner of the room like a ghost in her white dress. The annulment papers lay on the table between them. He turned his face away to hide the tears.

  ‘I won’t sign.’ He folded his arms across his chest, a stubborn tilt to his chin.

  She stepped forward and pushed the pen towards him.

  ‘You must.’

  The agony in her voice drew his gaze. She swallowed. The raw knot in my stomach began to gnaw; it was all still there between them. Wavering, his hand slid towards the pen, grasped it. Her hand stuttered as though she was thinking of touching him.

  It overwhelmed me. All the insecurities I kept buried rushed to the surface; I wanted him gone from our lives, from her memories. I swept her aside and raised my fist as though I might strike his face.

  ‘Sign!’ I roared.

  He stared at me, defiance in his gaze. I thought I’d wrenched that out of him long ago, the night I burned his books to ash.

  ‘She’s my wife.’

  I put my hand on her shoulder, my fingers digging into her flesh, claiming her. She didn’t flinch, but I felt her body droop, ever so slightly.

  ‘I haven’t been your wife for a long time, Matthew. I don’t love you.’

  The words were whispered, her eyes on the floor. I squeezed her shoulder again and she slid her arm through mine, her body pressed against mine. I could feel her heat through the thin cotton of my shirt.

  ‘Sign the papers. Let me go.’

  I put my hand on her cheek and pulled her face to mine so that I could kiss her. I forced my lips against hers, my hand sliding down to her throat.

  He couldn’t look at us. Instead he gripped the pen, his hands shaking. He stared at the paper, at her signature, stating she no longer wanted to be his.

  With painful care, the professor scrawled his name beside hers; this woman who was his wife. He put down the pen and shoved the papers away.

  ‘You got what you wanted. Now go, leave me alone.’

  He turned his face away, but I could see the tears in his eyes as he strained to hide them.

  I retrieved the paperwork, folded it carefully and tucked it back inside the jacket of my dress uniform. Still smiling, I picked up the pen. With a jerk, I brought it down onto Matthew’s hand. The metal cut through flesh and sinew. He screamed, his hand speared to the table. A spurt of blood sprayed across my shirt, marring the pristine white of the collar. Lucia put her hands to her mouth in horror but she couldn’t look away. His face was grey, coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

  With a jerk, I pulled the pen free and he shrieked again. I tugged a handkerchief from my trouser pocket and began slowly wiping the blood away. No one said anything. There was only the sound of his laboured breathing.

  I finished cleaning the pen and tucked it away with a smile. Turning to Lucia, I said brightly, ‘Let’s go darling, we’ve a wedding to arrange.’

  When she looked at me, for a split second, every trace of artifice had fallen from her eyes. I could see that she hated me. But it was too late. With visible effort, she pulled herself together, but she couldn’t hide the way her hands shook.

  Gripping her wrist, I towed her towards the door. She paused, just long enough to look back. ‘Goodbye, Matthew.’ I pulled her out into the corridor.

  When he started screaming her name, she quickened her pace until she was almost running. She burst through the exit before me as I lingered, satisfied that I had won.

  Nineteen

  For a time, after the wedding, I forgot about the professor. I was caught up in the bubble that we built around ourselves, in our little haven away from the city. I found an excuse to take time away from work whenever I could, to spend time with Lucia – even Clara.

  We would gather in the family room to watch old movies, curling up on the sofa together with a bowl of popcorn. We’d switch off all the lights, so that the room was illuminated by nothing more than the flickering blue screen of the television.

  But his presence would still niggle at me, especially at night, as my wife lay beside me in bed, sighing in her sleep. She would toss and turn and make these tiny little sounds of distress, like an animal whimpering. I would lie awake as she twisted around beneath the covers and wonder what dreams were troubling her.

  Whenever I would ask, the next morning
, as she wearily smeared face cream into the dark circles under her eyes, she would smile and shake her head.

  ‘I don’t remember, Darius. But I’m sure it was nothing important.’

  I wanted to believe her. I wanted it so badly, but the doubt ate away at my insides. I would catch a faraway look in her eye sometimes, and I knew she was thinking of her first husband. I knew it with a certainty that frightened me.

  But that knowledge only made me more determined to possess her. Some nights I refused to let her sleep at all, as I tried so hard to consume her, to erase the memories of the man who had her first.

  So when she told me nervously that she was expecting a child, he was the first person I wanted to tell.

  His interrogations had continued in my absence, more about routine than uncovering any new information. But still, I waited in the commander’s office for a time, watching on the monitor as one of the younger interrogators brought Matthew into the room and sat him down in the chair. He was so cowed and physically weakened that they didn’t even bother to secure his handcuffs to the metal ring bolted into the floor. They didn’t consider him a threat.

  His hand was still bandaged where I had stabbed him with the pen. He picked at the tattered fabric. Even on the monitor, it was clear that it was filthy, stained with so many layers of blood and dirt.

  The knowledge that his former wife was carrying my child burned at my stomach. I could taste the words on my tongue. Leaving the wall of screens playing to the empty office, I bolted for the stairs, the urge to unburden myself too great.

  When I burst into the room, the interrogator and the professor looked up at me, startled by my abrupt entrance.

  ‘Professor,’ I smiled, the desire to hurt itching away across my skin.

  I gestured to the door, not taking my eyes from the prisoner. ‘You can leave.’

  There was a pause, and then the young interrogator left, mumbling something as he went. I didn’t acknowledge him.

  I stared at the professor, my breath still loud from dashing down the stairs. The silence hung between us.

  ‘Did you want something?’ he asked, his voice flat.

  A bark of laughter escaped me. ‘Well yes, I did actually.’

  ‘There’s nothing left.’

  I tilted my head to one side. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘If you wanted something else from me, you’re out of luck. There’s nothing left to take.’

  A slow smile spread across my face. ‘Oh, I wanted to tell you my news. I thought you’d like to know that Lucia and I are having a baby.’

  He stared at me, his face completely blank. There was nothing behind his eyes. I wanted to laugh, to bray my triumph into his face.

  He moved so quickly, I didn’t register it until he was on me. His eyes burned into mine, his hands held out in front of him to grab my throat. His momentum sent me sprawling backwards, landing hard on the cold concrete floor of the cell.

  The professor had been thin when we first arrested him, but now he was almost skeletal, head bulbous on his wasted body. But still, his strength was surprising. His breath was hot and rancid on my face as his hands closed around my neck and began to squeeze. I flailed at him, trying to break his grip as spots appeared in my peripheral vision.

  The only thing in his eyes was the rage.

  My head clattered against the floor, sending jarring shock waves through my bones. I could have laughed in disbelief; the moment was so ridiculously unreal. And through it all, he never said a word. He didn’t need to. I thought I had broken him when I burned his books, when I took his wife.

  I was about to pass into unconsciousness when they came rushing in. I saw half a dozen pairs of boots run past my head, felt the release as they hauled him off me. I sucked the air into my heaving lungs hungrily, my throat burning.

  But it was no use. I heard the dull thud of their fists as I slipped into oblivion.

  *

  I woke hours later to a cold house, an empty bed. My head swam as I struggled to sit up, my throat hot and painful. The curtains were open and the room was washed with silver light from the moon. I tried to call for Lucia, but my voice emerged nothing more than a croak. Shards of glass slid down my throat as I coughed hoarsely.

  When the coughing fit subsided, I got out of bed, my feet like ice on the bare floorboards. The house was silent. I shuffled along the upstairs hallway, my head buzzing with a sense of unreality, of waking disorientated late at night, with no idea how I got home.

  Clara’s bedroom door was ajar. I pushed it open, thinking I might find my wife comforting the girl after a bad dream. But there was only the child, sleeping deeply sprawled on her back, her head tilted at an awkward angle, arms flung out wide. Something stirred in my chest. I crept into the room and half picked her up in my arms, moving her into a more comfortable position. A soft, fluttering breath hissed between her lips but she didn’t wake.

  I slipped quietly downstairs, desperate for a glass of water. But before I could reach the kitchen, a noise stopped me in my tracks. Lucia’s hushed voice emanated from the living room.

  I could almost make out the shape of the words, but not what she was saying. The door wasn’t closed. I pressed myself against the lacquered wood and slid my head around the corner.

  She was standing by the window, with her back to me. She moved and I could see something clutched tightly in her hands; it glinted in the faint light. As I watched, she carefully positioned a photo frame on the window ledge, her hands shaking. She was crying.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Matthew,’ she whispered.

  My whole body went cold. I could feel his hands around my throbbing neck.

  She pressed her fingertips against the picture, the other hand flat on her stomach. ‘It wasn’t my choice… not really. It was for Clara, so she would be okay. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you.’ Her voice broke.

  I crept backwards out of the room, moving slowly to keep the floorboards from creaking. My heart was racing as I climbed the stairs and returned to bed, leaving my wife weeping over a photograph of her former husband.

  Part Four

  Twenty

  His screams woke me in the night. I was torn from a violent dream, terrified that the soldiers had come back for us. The sheets were damp and twisted around my legs so tightly that I couldn’t move and panic gripped me.

  The baby was crying. I dropped back onto the bed, the fear rushing out of me in a wave. I felt limp. Ignoring my brother’s cries, I tried to go back to sleep, but nothing happened.

  With a groan, I rolled onto my stomach and buried my head under the pillows, but I couldn’t drown out the sound of his distress. Dragging myself out of bed, I made my way towards his room.

  I hated this house at night. It was too big and my footsteps echoed ominously, however quiet I tried to be. I missed our grotty flat and the views from the window, out across the city. I missed the noise of the children playing outside and the women chatting on their balconies. Here there was only silence. It didn’t feel like home. The flat hadn’t either, when I lived there, but I craved it now with a longing so intense it scared me. It wasn’t really the place I wanted. It was the time, the family.

  But I had a new family now. My brother’s room was on the other side of the house, beside my mother and the major’s. I lingered in the hallway, unsure whether to go in.

  I pushed the door open and beneath the baby’s cries I could hear something else. My mother sat in a chair beside the window, the baby in her arms. She was weeping.

  ‘Mama? Are you okay? What’s wrong with Will?’

  At first, I didn’t think she’d heard me. Perhaps she chose not to answer; it wouldn’t be the first time. After a moment, I turned to leave.

  ‘He won’t feed. I don’t understand; he’s obviously hungry.’

  She cried harder, her breath coming in little sobs that merged with the baby’s. The sound was a knife twisting in my stomach.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ I asked, hoping for a
reason to get out of the nursery. The curtains were open and the tree branches outside cast eerie shadows across the floor, a cold light from the moon seeping in with them.

  There was a noise behind me. The major appeared, tousled and gruff with sleep.

  ‘Get back to bed, Clara.’

  He didn’t look at me.

  I left the room, but I didn’t go back to my own. I stood outside instead, listening. His voice was low and harsh.

  ‘Can’t you stop him crying? What’s wrong with you?’

  Her words were so soft I couldn’t make out their shape. Only the sound of his anger as it swept over her.

  In my room, I was glad that the only thing I could hear were my brother’s cries.

  *

  The major was away a lot in the first few weeks of Will’s life. It was never clear to me what he was doing and my mother never explained it. Without him, she struggled to cope.

  Will spent much of the night screaming, so I spent much of it awake, lying in the dark willing him to be quiet. Sometimes my mother would get up and comfort him, but sometimes I could hear her shouting in frustration when he wouldn’t be silenced.

  It was hard to concentrate at school with so many interrupted nights. I never contributed much, but I became even more withdrawn. One morning, I almost fell asleep in Maths. The teacher was droning about hypotenuses and I could feel my eyes closing; there was nothing I could do to keep myself awake.

  Someone kicked my chair and I jerked up, missing time.

  Jasmine was needling me with a sideways glance from across the aisle. I must have made a noise – half the class had turned round to stare at me and the teacher paused in the middle of writing on the blackboard. She twisted her head, but didn’t say anything. The room was silent. After a moment the scrape of chalk resumed.

  What. Are. You. Doing? Jasmine mouthed the words, exaggerating each syllable.