Endless Abduction

by Gloria Martin

  “One of your classmates told me that a body went missing at the morgue,” read the text. Inga read it over three times before absorbing the information. A body missing from the morgue. It couldn’t be her, could it? Inga quickly scrolled through her messages. There was a group text from her professor. “Police will be in class today RE missing Jane Doe. Make sure you’re on time.” Inga swallowed. Although the afternoon sun beat down on her, she felt a sudden chill. Did this mean that what she had seen at the bar last night was real? She shook herself mentally and resumed her path to campus. She walked briskly. She felt somehow that she would be under suspicion if she arrived late. As she walked down the corridor towards the stairs to the morgue, Inga felt her sense of guilt grow. She knew it was ridiculous, but having seen what she had seen, she felt somehow culpable. As if she had stolen the body, or woken her up, or…

  She pushed open the door and surveyed the scene from the top of the stairs. There was one uniformed officer taking notes, the forensics team, and two detectives. Half of the class milled anxiously about on one side of the room as one of the detectives talked at length with Professor Janson. The atmosphere was tense with confusion and concern. When she started down the stairs, Professor Janson looked up and caught her eye.

  As she approached him she heard him speaking, “This is Inga Larson, one of our most promising forensics majors…If you’ll have her, she could be quite helpful, I think.”

  The detective, a dour-looking man with salt and pepper hair and bags under his eyes held out a hand to her. “Detective Erik Turan,” he rumbled, his voice raspy with lack of sleep and one too many cigarettes. Inga took his hand and shook it firmly. She noticed that his brown eyes moved constantly, from her face to the students across the room, darting from corner to corner, taking everything in.

  “I don’t know how much help I can be, but I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. She forced her lips into a small smile, forcing her face to convey shy reluctance in place of the anxiety and guilt that she felt.

  “Well at the very least you can grant me an interview,” the detective replied gruffly. “Professor Larson here tells me that you observed the body in close detail…There may be something you can tell us.”

  Inga looked from the professor to the detective. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “Of course,” she replied calmly. “Anything you need.” She felt dizzy as she exchanged contact information with Detective Turan and then excused herself to join her classmates.

  “What did he say to you?” said one of her classmates.

  Inga shrugged. “Nothing, really…He just thinks we can be helpful since we, uh, saw her.

  “I heard it might be the work of some serial killer creep,” said one of the other female students. “You know, someone who gets off on fooling the police, literally.”

  If there was one thing that Inga appreciated about her fellow students, is that they didn’t shy away from even the most gruesome scenarios.

  “I heard that there isn’t even any surveillance footage, because the cameras haven’t been updated in so long that they don’t even really use them,” a tall man with ice blue eyes whispered conspiratorially

  Inga shrugged. It seemed like they all wanted to hear what she thought, but she hesitated. The certainty of what she had seen—that the woman from the morgue was alive, and had gotten up of her own free will—was growing inside her.

  “Well…What if it’s like one of those really crazy stories where she like overdosed or something, and was effectively dead, and then woke up in the reefer and…?” She trailed off, seeing the expressions of her classmates turn from admiration to amusement. “I mean it would be wild, but we can’t rule it out, right?” she pressed on, “Have they found any other prints?”

  “No word on that yet,” came a voice from behind her. Inga started and turned to see Detective Turan standing just behind her, his face inches from hers. “And you know that sort of incident usually only happens in places like Russia. Besides, all of you saw her, correct?”

  His eyes darted from one student’s face to another, lingering on Inga’s for what felt like an eternity to her. She felt her heart beat rapidly in her chest in response, and a faint blush covered her cheeks.

  The detective continued, “Of course you’re all still students, but did any of you happen to feel or notice anything unusual? Temperature-wise, or otherwise?” He paced around the group, watchful.

  A part of Inga wanted to reply, to confess that she was certain that she’d seen the woman alive the night before, but she quelled the impulse and instead remained silent as her classmates reflected on their minute and irrelevant observations. The class dragged on, and Inga’s mind drifted away from the cold white room to the dark of the bar last night. She could see the figure of the woman in her mind’s eye: Her long dark hair flowing over her slender shoulders, her high cheekbones and ivory complexion. But more than those things, Inga recalled her gaze with a mixture of fear and excitement. Those deep black eyes that at once seemed to be both static and vital, that bored into her very soul. Inga recalled the moment again and again.

  She passed the day in a haze, wandering along the canal, distractedly skipping stones across its sluggish surface, avoiding Kalle’s calls. She knew that her growing obsession with the missing body couldn’t be healthy, but she seemed to be incapable of suppressing it. Each time she recalled the moment of eye contact, her heard beat against her ribs as if she were in love. By the time she had wandered the length of the canal three times, night had fallen heavily across the city. Autumn’s tender coldness expressed itself in a crisp breeze. The sky was thick with clouds, and a grey rain had begun to fall, chilling her to the bone.

  At last she determined that she couldn’t put it off any longer. Kalle was waiting for her at her apartment. He had cooked dinner and, more importantly, he had done nothing wrong. It would be ungrateful if she simply didn’t turn up to enjoy a meal with him.

  She turned to the city and walked through the quiet streets. It was Tuesday, and the sudden cold and rain had rendered the streets inhospitable to the usual gaggles of drinkers and date nights. As she skirted the main drag in favor of smaller alleyways, Inga was once again seized with the sense that someone was following her. At first she dismissed it as paranoia, but the feeling grew as she drew closer to her apartment. A block away, and she was sure that someone was behind her. Adrenaline surged through her veins. There was no choice but to turn and confront them, or die ignorant of her assailant. She turned quickly, a hand raised as if to strike, ready to defend herself, and then she stopped and stood perfectly still.

  There, standing before her, was the woman from the morgue. Inga felt as if her breath had been sucked from her lungs. The woman took a step towards her, and heart thumped against her ribcage so hard she thought she might faint. Inga was sure that it was her. She could see the two pinprick scars at the crook of her neck, just visible under the shadow of her hair. Blood rushed in Inga’s ears, and made her cheeks flush red. A mixture of panic and exhilaration rendered her speechless as she stood there, frozen.

  The woman stood only a few feet away now. Her smooth black hair flowed over her delicate shoulders. Although she was only dressed in skin-tight black jeans and a black camisole, the cold rain did not seem to bother her. She was staring directly into Inga’s eyes, her face expressionless, perfectly beautiful in its tranquility. She took another step forward. They were so close now that Inga could see that there was something red on her lips—a dash of scarlet against the white landscape of her skin.

  “Y-you’re not real,” Inga whispered at last, still unable to move.

  ‘I’m real. I’ve been looking for you.’ The woman spoke without moving her lips, as if her cold clear voice sounded inside of Inga’s own mind.

  “N-no…” Inga whispered again. Her knees felt weak as she realized that the woman could speak to her without opening her mouth. Telepathy. How could this be real? If it were not for the feeling of her heart pumping blood hard and f
ast through her veins, Inga would have been sure that it was a dream.

  ‘You don’t need to say anything. I can hear you,’ the woman replied, taking another step forward.

  Inga stumbled back, into the closed doorway of an abandoned building. She was trapped. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman’s face. Her dark eyes were filled with a peculiar vivacity, flitting beneath the surface of a perfect calm.

  ‘I was looking for you because you’re perfect,’ the woman said. ‘Perfect.’

  “H-how, what do you…” Inga trailed off helplessly as she felt a cold hand come to rest on her cheek.

  ‘I could feel you,’ the woman replied. She was standing so close now that Inga was having trouble focusing on her face. She thought she might faint as the woman pressed close to her, burying her hand in Inga’s hair now, holding her there. Their bodies were pressed together, and Inga felt a peculiar tickle of heat between her legs as the fullness of the other women’s breasts pressed against hers, and the pain of having her hair pulled flashed through her.

  And then the woman was kissing her. Fear and ecstasy crashed together, and Inga’s mind went blank. The woman kissed her roughly, with an intensity that Inga had never known. When they pulled apart, her lip was bleeding. A tear had fallen down her flushed cheek from the pain, but her arousal was sublime. Her loins ached for more. She wanted to beg for more.

  “Oh god,” she whispered, “This can’t be, you can’t be…”

  The woman only smiled, and released Inga’s hair. It was a mysterious and predatory smile, and Inga was sure she caught a glimpse of a very sharp canine peeking out from the woman’s scarlet lips, and then it was gone. Someone was coming. There were footsteps echoing in the alleyway. The woman brushed the back of her hand against Inga’s cheek with surprising gentleness, and kissed her one last time, cold and sweet like a late-falling apple.

  ‘See you again, beautiful…’ she murmured, and was gone.

  Inga collapsed in the doorway, breathing heavily, covering her face with her hands. Her bottom lip was swollen, and though every fiber of her body was seized with fear, she felt a desire more intense than anything she’d ever known. She wanted to give herself to this strange woman, to let her have everything, body and soul. She wanted to be devoured by her. Inga slumped against the door frame, attempting to regain control of herself. She took a few deep breaths, breathing steam into the cold night air, and ran her hands through her hair distractedly. She took out a small mirror from her bag and inspected her lip. It was red and swollen. She would have to tell Kalle it was a joke that Astrid had played, she decided. Slowly, slowly she got to her feet, bracing herself against the rotting doorframe before stepping down into the street. She walked the remaining block to her apartment, and climbed the stairs to her flat, an impossible fatigue settling on her body. She arranged her face into a smile and pushed the door open.

  “I’m home,” she called, kicking off her sneakers and dropping her backpack by the door. The apartment smelled wonderful, like roasted chicken and orange peel. Kalle stuck his head out of the kitchen.

  “Everything okay? You’re late.” He was clutching a large spoon in his left hand and wearing a look of concern.

  “Fine. I’m gonna take a shower,” Inga mumbled, practically running into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She turned on the shower and pulled off her clothes. She still felt shaky as she stripped off her jeans and sweater. She studied her own face in the bathroom mirror. The swelling of her lip was not as bad as she thought. It was negligible. A vision of the mystery woman flashed before her eyes. She could still smell her. A faint sweetness, like roses. As she recalled the touch of her hand on her cheek, Inga raised her hand and gingerly caressed the place. The tenderness and violence of the encounter had overwhelmed her entirely. Steam obscured her image in the mirror. Inga pulled off her bra and underpants, conscious now of the response that the woman had elicited from her. Her panties were wet, and she was still wanting.

  Kalle pushed open the door to the bathroom without knocking. “What, are you taking a sauna in here or what?” he asked, approaching her and resting his large hands on her bare waist. His hands were so unlike hers. His were large and warm and tough; hers were cool, slender and feminine.

  “Uh, no, I…I was just looking at what that idiot Astrid did to me yesterday,” she pointed to her lip.

  Kalle reached up to her mouth, making sure to brush her breasts with his hands as he felt the wound. “She bit you again?”

  “Yeah…” Inga trailed off. She could feel that he wanted her as he pressed up against her back. She was filled with desire, but it wasn’t for him. She swallowed as he began to kiss her neck, and decided, in spite of herself, to succumb. He took her on the bathroom floor. He misunderstood the wetness between her thighs as a gift for him, and sunk into her with a moan of gratitude. This was as about as creative as Kalle could get—having sex on the floor instead of in the bed. Inga disguised her boredom by sinking into her memories of the evening. Even a recollection of the woman was enough for Inga to feel excitement rising inside of her. She imagined what could have happened if they had been alone. It was the woman’s hands on her now, pushing the boundaries of pleasure and pain. She was all around her, undressing her, pushing her roughly to the ground and jerking back her head, biting her neck so hard that the blood flowed out between her perfect lips. Inga came to her climax, her eyes tightly closed as she submitted to fantasy, her body vibrating with the force of her ecstasy. Kalle finished soon after.

  Although she knew him to be a force for good in her life, Inga couldn’t help but feel a certain revulsion as she watched Kalle stagger to his feet and dress. He slapped her backside playfully.

  “Dinner should be ready in 5,” he said with a wink, and left her alone.

  Inga climbed into the shower and washed the sweat from her body. The man whom she had once sought out for comfort and pleasure was now meaningless to her. She washed his sweat from her body and explored her anxiety. It was growing now. She knew that her life was perfect now, and she knew that the very idea of leaving it for a mysterious woman—a woman who should have been dead, who was obviously dangerous—was preposterous. And yet she couldn’t deny that it was what she wanted.

  When she joined Kalle at the kitchen table, she could only pick at the meal that he had so considerately put together.

  “What’s up with you?” he asked, finally becoming aware that something was amiss.

  “Nothing really,” she said with a shrug, and shoveled a forkful of roasted chicken and green beans into her mouth, “Just thinking about school stuff.”

  Kalle nodded and took a sip of his beer, “Right, the body thing…So did they find it?”

  Inga felt a strange pang of irritation at Kalle’s use of the word ‘it’. “Her, and no,” she said. “They had detectives and everything else in class, but it’s basically seeming like she left without a trace.”

  “Left’?” Kalle looked at her with raised eyebrows, “Don’t you mean ‘was taken’?”

  Inga studied him in silence for a moment. His lack of imagination could be truly infuriating. “Well it could be either, I guess,” she said finally, fiddling with her wine glass and looking thoughtful.

  “You’re kidding,” Kalle said. He looked astonished.

  She suppressed a sigh and downed half a glass of wine before summoning all of her patience to explain, “Yeah. You know, like those cases in Russia where the guy is so wasted that his heartrate is nearly non-existent? So the doctor thinks he’s dead and they throw him in the reefer, where he wakes up a few hours later and scares the shit out of the lab tech.”

  Kalle laughed at the image. “So I guess the dead can rise?” he said. “Sounds like some vampire or zombie story.”

  Inga nodded. It was truly stranger than fiction. And if the woman wasn’t a junkie or a zombie…In a flash, Inga recalled the sharpness of her teeth in that small smile. Was it possible? Could she be a vampire? Goose bumps formed
on Inga’s body, and a shiver ran down her spine. She stood up abruptly. “I…I’m sorry Kalle, I’m really not feeling well…I need to lie down.”

  He looked at her with concern and nodded, watching as she stumbled across the apartment to her bedroom. He was sure that she had just had a long and intense day, and would feel better tomorrow.

  In the weeks that followed, the investigation surrounding the missing body deepened. Inga’s memories of that first autumn night faltered, coming in and out of focus like a poorly tuned radio. There were days when she wondered if she had imagined everything, and days when her memories of the woman’s body, the feel of her hand and her lips, were so vivid that she was certain of what had happened. Some days, walking alone, Inga swore she felt a presence behind her, just as she had on that night a month ago. But she would turn, and there would be no one. Just the faintly sweet scent of dried roses.

  Inga became moody and unpredictable. Kalle attributed the change to the stress of being caught up in such an infamous investigation. The press couldn’t let the disappearance go unpublicized, and the police presence on campus was incessant. Almost more stressful was the fact that Detective Turan had taken Professor Janson’s advice, and was attempting to take Inga under his wing. She felt torn between her secrets and her ambition as he drew her deeper into the investigation.

  They met almost daily now, but the detective remained almost as inscrutable to Inga as he had been when they’d first met. He was quiet and watchful. He trusted no one, and smoked and drank often. There was a certain appeal to his weathered features, and his powers of deduction were unparalleled. He gave her access to aspects of the investigation that would have made her classmates green with envy.

  But as she helped him sift through hours of traffic camera footage and material evidence, and hovered in the background of witness interviews, she knew that she was deceiving him. She found the smallest comfort in the idea that if she told him what she had experienced, he probably wouldn’t believe her anyway.