Charon's Net

by Gemma Herrero Virto

***

  Carlos ran his gaze again and again from the computer screen to the mobile. He could not avoid still feeling a little nervous about what they were doing. After all, he was passing along confidential information to a civilian from an Ertzaintza headquarters. If he got caught, he could start thinking about paying a visit to the nearest job centre. He checked the next step on Gus's list: remove the floppy disk. Carlos took it out with a smile, and put it away in his jacket. Thank goodness the lad had written that list for him. He was so concerned about them not getting caught that he would have forgotten to take out the ‘proof of the crime'. He looked at the computer screen again. Nothing was happening and, nevertheless, he imagined that in that very moment Gus was fiddling around with it in total calm, miles away. The whole thing still felt like witchcraft to him, so he decided not to try to understand it, most of all because if he asked Gus to explain to him, it was highly likely that the lad would end up having a nervous breakdown.

  ***

  "What's happening now?" Natalia asked him, incapable of staying quiet a second longer.

  "We have to wait for the files that I'm copying from Eneko's computer to get here. We need four ICQ files in which the user numbers are registered. With those, I'll be able to know if one of them is Charon’s, even if Eneko is intelligent enough to delete the history on his computer every day after using it so as not to leave proof.”

  "What if he has erased them?" she said, worried.

  "The identification number remains saved on each one of these files. As cautious as he may be, it's very difficult for him to have erased all of it.”

  Natalia decided to let it go. Ever since Gus had sat down in front of the computer, he seemed different, much calmer and sure of himself. He knew what he was doing very well, and she would not be doing him any favours by passing on her nervousness to him. She lit a cigarette, stood up, and went up to the window to see whether she could distract herself as such for a little while. It was still raining in a way that was weak, but constant. She entertained herself for a few seconds by watching the water in the puddles on the road, and the passersby who were proceeding forth, shielded by their umbrellas. Meanwhile, she also cast rapid glances at the screen to verify that they had still not finished downloading all of the information. When Gus told her that they were now done, she sat down beside him and they began to look over them.

  ***

  The phone rang in the precise instant that Carlos was going to call Gus back in order to ask him why the hell he was taking so long.

  "You can disconnect from the Internet now, we’ve finished," Gus's voice sounded tired on the other end of the line.

  "What have you found? Is it him?"

  “Well, with about a 95% chance of being right, I would assure you that no. There's nothing; Charon’s identification number doesn't appear anywhere."

  "What about the other 5%?"

  "There's always the possibility that Eneko is paranoid enough to erase daily the files that could incriminate him, just in case there was an unexpected investigation. But I wouldn't be placing any bets, I think we’ve caught him unawares.”

  “All right, well then, I’m going to keep going forward for that five per cent. I'm going to request an arrest warrant," Carlos did not want to give up and admit that he had been mistaken. Besides, the forty-eight hours of detention might help Eneko to remember some other detail. He would carry on forward and pay the consequences later.

  "All right, if we’re going to put our foot in it then it might as well be all the way down to the bottom. Now, do you know how to turn off the computer?”

  “Don't be an idiot. You just have to press the same button you did to turn it on.”

  Down the telephone came a sigh of desperation from Gus:

  "Do whatever you want. You're a lost case. You're better off unplugging it; I haven't got the strength to explain. Be careful it doesn’t break.”

  "Listen, I'm sorry this hasn't worked out," Carlos was also frustrated but, on top of that, he was feeling guilty for having given them hope in a dead end street. “And I'm sorry for being so thick about the computer."

  "It’s okay, don't worry. If you knew how to work them, you wouldn't need me. And, besides, you ought to see me trying to interrogate someone or do a post-mortem. I'd be dire. Each to their own. Will we be seeing each other tonight?”

  “I'll be there. See you then.”

  He hung up, unplugged the computer, and plugged it back in again. Good, it was off. There was no human way of explaining back at headquarters that he had spent more than half an hour checking over a computer that he did not know how to switch off. He checked once more that the floppy disk was in his jacket pocket, and left the office in order to return to Bilbao. Perhaps the company of the two of them, along with a little bit of inane chit-chat, would make him forget about how frustrating the day was turning out to be.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Once her parents had left, Patricia jumped for joy. Free at last. She had never thought it would be so easy to make them believe that she was ill so that they wouldn't take her to that ridiculous dinner, but everything was going just as Alex had planned it. Now all she had to do was get to work.

  She opened her wardrobe and took out the clothes that she had chosen for that night. She put on a pair of black jeans, a red jumper, and a black quilted anorak her parents had given her for her last birthday. On looking at herself in the mirror, she went back to feeling disappointed. The black clothing highlighted the paleness of her skin, which she usually felt proud of when she compared her face to the spots and the redness on the faces of her classmates. Now, however, it reminded her of the faces on the porcelain dolls that she had in her room. And she still did not look even a single day older than her own fourteen years.

  She ran to the bathroom and looked at herself again. She took out her ponytail and let down her long black mane. She combed her hair and decided to leave it as it was. She smiled. Now it was a little better. All that was left was the final touch. She took out her mother's make-up bag and began to rummage around inside it. She had never put on make-up before, but she had watched her mother a thousand times carrying out the ritual which, ever since she was little, had enchanted her. She was sure she would be able to do it. She began by using a pallet of dark eye shadows, and then she chose a lipstick in red so that it would go with the jumper. She examined her reflection again. Now it was much better.

  More satisfied with herself, she left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. She took out of the fridge the meal that her mother had prepared for her and threw it down the toilet. She had no desire to eat. She had spent the day feeling so nervous that she would have been incapable of swallowing even a single mouthful. It was if all her insides had gone mad. She could feel her accelerated heartbeat, and her stomach was hurting her as if something were twisting it from inside, but she felt so good...

  After looking at herself one more time in the mirror, she left the house. The sound of the door as it closed behind her rang out like a sentence. It was done now; she had taken the first step. She felt so euphoric that she had to hold herself back from starting to jump. As she went down in the lift, she checked the time on her watch. In the end, she had got ready so fast that she still had an hour and a half to go before she needed to beat the lighthouse, and it would not take her any longer than half an hour to get there. She went out into the street. At least it had stopped raining, so she would be able to go there at a walking pace, so that it would take a little time, instead of taking the bus.

  She started to walk, her thoughts lost in dreams about how wonderful that night was going to be; about memories of the sweet words in her conversations with Alex; about the hopes for a future together; about the fears regarding whether she would like Alex in real life as much as she did online. She left the neighbourhood and began to go down the slope. That area of Portugalete was not as filled with people as the city centre. She walked, without crossing paths with virtually anybody, hugging herself every time
a blast of cold wind blew hard and pierced through her clothes. Minutes later she arrived on a street that was much busier. She passed couples walking hand in hand, women leaving the coffee shops, groups of guys beginning the Saturday night party... She hardly saw them. She remained immersed in her thoughts. Without realizing it, her pace picked up. She could not bear the anxiety any more of knowing that there was now so little time to go before she would be with her love. She looked at her watch again. There was still an hour and a quarter to go. It seemed an eternity.

  She forced herself to stop in front of the window display of a clothes shop in order to kill some time. She thought about how good she would look in the bell-bottomed trousers and fitted t-shirt being displayed on one of the mannequins. It was a shame that the shop was closed now, and that she was only carrying twenty Euros in her pocket. She resigned herself and carried on walking. In that moment, she heard a shout behind her:

  “Well if it isn’t you, Patricia! I didn’t recognize you; you’re looking so elegant...”

  Her stomach twisted again, even more violently. She slowly turned around to see who was talking to her, cursing herself for not having chosen a less frequented way. On turning, she found herself facing Irune, one of the girls from her class. She sighed in relief and smiled at her:

  “Irune, you gave me a real start. I thought you might have been one of my parents’ friends.”

  “What’s going on? Have you run away?”

  “Something like that. I’ve gone out without telling them.”

  “And I thought you were a good girl. Come on, come into the bar where my friends are and tell me about it.”

  “I, it’s just... I don’t know...” replied Patricia, hesitating. She did not know Irune’s friends; she did not even get on well with her in class. Irune had repeated the year several times, and she hung out with older people. Nevertheless, Patricia did not have anything better to do for an hour. “All right, I’m not due to meet up till eleven.”

  She went into the bar. The inside was dark, with the exception of some coloured lights that turned above the dance floor, which in that moment was empty. There were very few people inside the bar itself; three or four groups were scattered around in the different corners. Irune led her towards one of the groups, and went along presenting her to all of them, in spite of the fact that the music did not allow her to catch anybody’s name. Afterwards, she took her to a bench in a corner in order to talk with her. She took out a packet of cigarettes from her jacket and offered her one. Patricia shook her head.

  “Well, at least let me invite you to have a sip,” she said, passing her the glass she had in her hand.

  Patricia tasted it, and tried to pass it back to Irune, but the latter refused:

  “No, you keep drinking it for a while, I’m already loaded. And, while you’re working on that, you’re can tell me who it is you’ve agreed to meet with, because I’m dying of curiosity.”

  ***

  By the time she realised, it was already five to eleven. She said goodbye to Irune and her friends and left the bar at a run as she put on her coat. It was raining again, and the street was slippery, but Patricia did not slow down. She could not believe it; months of dreaming about this encounter, and now she was going to be late. If Alex thought that she had not shown up for the date and had left, she would never forgive herself.

  She continued running whilst she reproached herself again and again for how idiotic she had been. She could lose the boy she loved just because of an hour of stupid conversation with a girl she saw in class every day, and who had only stopped her so as to be able to gossip at her expense on Monday with the other girls in her group. Stupid!

  She reached the bottom of the slope and crossed the street without even looking. A car slammed on the brakes a few centimetres from her, and she heard the grating noise of the horn. Frightened, she began running even faster. At last she reached the promenade of the suspension bridge, and continued at full speed towards the lighthouse. In spite of the fact that it was raining, a fair number of people could be seen waiting for the bridge, or walking beneath their umbrellas from café to café. She dodged them quickly, keeping her eyes set only on her feet, urging them to go even faster. At last she arrived at the municipal swimming pool. From there onwards began the breakwater that led to the lighthouse. This area was less frequented; she only crossed paths with a few fishermen who were trying their luck in spite of the rain and the cold, for which reason she was able run with more freedom.

  She began to feel tired, and the air was entering frozen into her lungs, causing jabs in her throat and her right side, but she forced herself to keep running. A little bit more, just a little bit more. He could not have left already. Besides, if he had decided to go, he would have to walk past her. The thought that he had to be here, barely two hundred metres away, gave her new strength to continue running.

  The silhouette of the lighthouse was becoming increasingly clearer. There was now very little to go and, yet, she could not see him. She tried to calm herself, thinking that he could be on the other side, looking towards the sea. She climbed the moss-covered steps that led up to the platform. She ran a few steps more, circled the lighthouse, and felt disappointed. There was nobody there.

  She tried to calm herself down, and stop the chaos of her thoughts in order to think clearly. The pain in her side was becoming more acute on having stopped running, forcing her to double over. She stayed like this for a few seconds, trying to recover her breath. The nerves, along with what she had drunk in the bar, had turned her stomach into a whirlwind. She was feeling so queasy that she had to lean over the wall in order vomit into the estuary. When she had finished, she felt a fair bit better. She sat down on the base of the lighthouse to think. She looked at her watch. It was only ten past eleven. Alex could not have made a journey all the way from San Sebastián if he was unable to wait for her for ten minutes. Perhaps he was the one who was arriving late.

  She was struck by the idea that he had never planned on coming. Of course, it was all just a highly amusing joke. The little fourteen-year old girl who gets so hung up on a guy of nineteen that she waits several hours for him in the rain. Very funny. No sooner had she thought of it, she felt guilty. Alex was not like that; he would never do that. She had confided more things in him than anybody else in her whole life, and he would never have laughed at her. He had always been there to support her with whatever she needed; to listen to her, to be her friend. And all because he loved her. He had told her, and she had believed him. She could not be so unfair as to doubt him, not when he had opened his heart to her in that way. She wiped away the tears, which were mixed in with the rain soaking her face. All of her makeup was ruined, and her hair and clothes were sopping wet. How was she going to present herself to Alex looking like this? Why did it have to rain? On thinking about the rain, she realised what was happening. The seawall to the lighthouse had a lower walkway in which she would not get drenched. Alex must have thought the same thing, and would be there waiting for her, instead of doing the stupid thing like her and waiting under the increasingly heavy rain.

  She got up and ran again. She went back along the main walkway of the lighthouse, and carried on running until she found one of the flights of stairs that led to the lower part of the pier. The steps were very old and worn out, and they were covered with moss, and slippery because of the rain. Therefore, despite every inch of her body urging her to hurry up, she forced herself to go down them carefully. When she finally arrived below, she felt afraid. The lower part of the lighthouse was not lit. Ahead of her stretched out, in both directions, a damp and dark passageway, illuminated by the tenuous reflections in the dark surface of the estuary, which came down from the streetlights on the upper parts. There were no walls, just some old greenish coloured railings that blocked the way between columns. She took several deep breaths to calm herself down. She was feeling nervous and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. Where could Alex be? She felt terrified at the id
ea of going to search for him in that darkness, riddled with shadows and reflections. She momentarily rested her right hand on one of the wide columns, but brought it back in disgust upon feeling that something damp and cold was touching it. She repressed a scream as an insect similar to a cockroach ran across the column to take refuge in the shadows.

  She could not stay standing there, thinking about where to go. She had to move somewhere, but the alcohol she had drunk meant that her brain could not think clearly. She felt queasy again. Her stomach churned at the smell of damp and urine that permeated everything. She forced herself to start walking again. She would go to the left, to the end of the passageway, until she was beneath the lighthouse. Alex had to be there.

  After a few seconds, her eyes were beginning to get accustomed to the darkness, and she was able to walk with more certainty. Just a few short metres further ahead, she was able to make out a shadow that was moving. She smiled, filled with joy. At last she had found him. But, on drawing closer, she realised that it was a couple in search of some privacy. She tried to pass by without looking at them, but their puffing and panting accompanied her for the next few metres. She felt ridiculous on realising that she had blushed. In spite of the fact that they made her feel uncomfortable, the fact of knowing that she was not alone in that place made her feel safer. She kept on walking to the end of the passageway, increasingly faster.

  A few metres further ahead, she made out a handrail that marked the end of the way. That point had to be just below the lighthouse and, nevertheless, there was nobody there. Without being able to believe it, she kept on walking until she reached the railing. She gripped onto it with both hands and stayed there for a few seconds, watching the dark and dirty water. She felt lost, frightened, and ridiculous. Where could Alex be? The thought of having to retrace her steps alone back down that walkway and, on top of that, to go all over the right side as well looking for him made her shiver. She did not want to have to walk in fear through every shadow, through every reflection in the water, past the people who could be down there. She just wanted to find Alex but, the more she thought about it, the less logical the idea seemed to her that he could be on the other side of the walkway. She was even beginning to find the idea of having gone down there ridiculous. Alex would not even know about the existence of this level of the breakwater, and much less would it have occurred to him to think that she could be down there.