Trance

by Southward, Adam

  She would live. He’d killed more people than he needed to, although still not enough to repay what they’d done. If he had any doubts, he thought of Laura. The memory of her face was enough to cause his throat to catch. He swallowed but the pain of her memory stabbed him through the chest.

  You saw what they did to her.

  You saw what they did to all of us.

  Take your revenge, Victor, or die trying.

  That was his promise, and those who got in his way could never understand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The seat-belt sign blinked off and Alex finally saw Sophie’s hands relax. She’d been gripping the armrests of the small economy seat all the way since take-off. Taking a deep breath, she stared out of the window. Her eyes were glazed and for the second time in as many days Alex wondered if she’d taken something. If so, he couldn’t judge. His own private sourcing of benzodiazepines was hardly rare among members of his profession, and he’d been using the same source for years since they’d studied together at UCL. His friend Mikey was a pharmacist and a gambler. Good at the former but poor at the latter. He welcomed the opportunity to bring in some untraceable cash in exchange for untraceable prescription meds. It was a neat arrangement and one which meant Alex could avoid facing up to his own habit.

  They’d been delayed for an hour at London Stansted Airport. They were flying budget and their promised three-hour non-stop flight was turning into something rather more tedious. While waiting in the lounge, trying to ignore the bustle of other travellers and the frequent announcements, Alex tried to get Sophie to open up a little. He worried that he still knew hardly anything about her. Robert had been next to useless on the matter.

  ‘Robert doesn’t know anything,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m not sure he even remembers my name half the time.’

  Alex remembered Robert’s comment that had confirmed as much. ‘What brought you to the UK?’ he said.

  It turned out that Sophie hadn’t been in the UK for long – only a matter of months, in fact.

  ‘Germany was a lovely place,’ she said, ‘but . . . I had to leave.’

  She described her childhood. Born in Germany to working-class parents, her mother was a care assistant and father a plumber. Life had been unremarkable until she was fourteen, at which point her normal family life had unravelled. Her dad, a timid and otherwise kindly man, left her mother. He’d been living a double life of sorts. The separation was swift and brutal.

  ‘It must have been awful,’ said Alex, his face flushing, knowing the effect that it must have had on a young girl. He avoided the usual plummet into self-pity and anger. His own situation was too far gone. But he saw himself in her story.

  Sophie said that her mother had coped for a short time until the cracks had widened. She had found herself pregnant, a parting gift from a deceitful spouse. It could have brought the family back from the brink, and for the next eight months it almost did, until the birth. Fate had held a further wicked surprise in store for the family, and in this case it was chromosome 18q- syndrome in the newest member, Dieter. Dieter suffered from multiple serious developmental issues, both physical and psychological, and had required intensive support from day one. Dieter had got the support he needed, but his mother hadn’t. She’d hidden it well, but her grief triggered depression and by the time anyone thought to address it she was two bottles into her stash of sleeping tablets.

  Alex’s eyes widened at this point. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Sophie had revealed a deep insight into her personal life. When he’d asked, he hadn’t meant for her to tell him her darkest secrets.

  He stared at her and watched. Her eyes darted as she told the story – up and to the left. A slight chill washed over him. She was lying, or embellishing. The story came out ordered and logical. Rehearsed?

  He put the thoughts to one side. Too much caffeine, he decided. His judgement was off when it came to Sophie. She was getting under his skin, seducing him and causing him to lose himself.

  Sophie continued. She said she had discovered her mother after the overdose, unconscious on the kitchen floor. Her mum had been admitted to hospital and then remained under residential psychiatric care for some time. Sophie had not been expected to look after her brother Dieter, despite her protestations that she could. He was taken into a specialist foster home for children with severe disabilities in Munich, and remained there still.

  Sophie said she had suffered a nervous breakdown soon afterwards, despite the best efforts of all the professionals and friends around her.

  ‘I saw my whole family and life disintegrate before my eyes within eighteen months,’ she said. ‘I was lost. The foster home was my rescue.’

  Sophie described the rest of her teenage years with a smile. She had excelled in the final years of school and joined Munich University as an undergraduate in psychology at nineteen. She pursued the clinical route and had headed to the UK earlier that year on a European placement scheme. It was all arranged at an international level, which was why Robert didn’t know much about what was going on.

  ‘He thinks I appeared out of thin air,’ said Sophie.

  Alex was taking this all in, but his discomfort persisted. The hairs on his neck prickled. Sophie had told him a story. A fabrication, perhaps part truth, but mainly lies.

  It was a relief when their flight number flicked on to the overhead screen. They gathered their things for boarding and Alex considered Sophie’s behaviour. He didn’t fool himself: most people lied about their childhood, himself included.

  He watched a young family up ahead, queuing, the children playing while the parents searched for boarding passes and passports. Alex refused to believe that any family was perfect, but he knew from experience that some fared better than others. Stability in childhood was hugely important – having a strong foundation on which to build everything else offered a secure platform for a child to launch themselves into the world, knowing they could always fall back and start again. It was why Alex desperately wanted to mitigate the damage his divorce had wrought on Katie. By offering her stability, even if not within a traditional family unit, she could still have the foundation she deserved.

  Sophie, regardless of her story, clearly hadn’t had that. He again felt a connection to her in the way she felt compelled to fabricate such a tale. Whatever failings she felt, and whatever blame lay on her or her family, she tried very hard to mask it and live her life regardless. He considered Sophie’s response and used it to reformulate his assessment of her. Something traumatic had happened, probably in her formative years. He could relate to that, and the fact that she’d headed into the same profession said a lot about her motivation. Her anxiety around her patients made Alex think she might also have suffered a professional misadventure similar to his. But she was possibly too inexperienced, and besides, that should have shown up on her background checks by Robert.

  Personal, then. Her story was a cover. Alex wanted to tell her that whatever she had survived did not have to define her, that it might end up being a good thing. The best psychologists are often the ones who’ve experienced, not just read about, the symptoms they treat.

  Alex was tempted to ask if Sophie was in regular contact with her mother or brother back in Germany, but he held his tongue. He didn’t know whether she’d answer truthfully or not, and he was thankful he’d learned even a snippet more about her. Perhaps in time he’d learn more, if she’d let him.

  With a certain amount of concern he realised all of this only increased his feelings towards her.

  The tyres jolted on the runway. Alex opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep and the harsh deceleration caused his book to slide off on to the floor. It triggered a memory of Katie’s first holiday to the Canary Islands with him and Grace. Katie had only been four. She’d refused to put her seat belt on and had screamed during departure, take-off and for the first hour of flight, finally falling asleep for the rest of the journey. Grace had shrunk into her seat, embarrassed and upset. A
lex had found the whole thing quite amusing, apologising to the surrounding passengers before ordering a second, then a third glass of wine.

  Alex apologised now to the person in front as he shook their seat, rummaging around his feet to retrieve his book. He grabbed the cover as the pilot announced their arrival at Bucharest Henri Coandă International Airport. He slid his bookmark into the wrong page and stuffed everything into his hand luggage.

  The weather was confirmed as a pleasant eighteen degrees and windy, which would explain the bumpy landing. Either that or the pilot was asleep, as Sophie suggested when she packed her own book away. Alex guessed her comment was to imply she was not a frequent flyer, but that didn’t seem to tally with the ease with which she gathered her belongings and made ready to leave. She glanced at Alex several times. He rubbed his eyes and followed her through the cabin towards the exit.

  They passed through immigration towards the baggage pickup. As they walked, Sophie kept staring at a number of other passengers until they stared back with hostile expressions.

  ‘Do you travel much?’ Alex looked on in amusement.

  ‘No.’ Sophie continued to stare at a man in the distance. Alex’s smirk faded and he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

  ‘You don’t have to stay,’ he said. ‘I thought it would be good for you.’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ said Sophie, as the man she was staring at turned around and walked in the other direction, pushing a brown trolley suitcase.

  Alex followed her gaze. ‘Victor isn’t here,’ he said, noticing the man with the case was similar in appearance and build to their fugitive.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Sophie, as her tatty grey bag rounded the carousel and bumped its way towards her. Alex already had his and they headed through customs to the exit.

  ‘We’re staying at the Grand Boutique Hotel,’ Sophie told the driver as they clambered into the next available taxi. Alex had insisted they wait in line for a licensed one. ‘On Strada Negustori.’ The driver nodded.

  ‘It’s close to the university,’ Sophie told Alex, ‘and very reasonable.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Alex, watching the way Sophie stared at the back of the driver’s head, flicking her hair behind her ears and chewing her lip.

  She relaxed as they settled into the thirty-minute trip into the city. ‘Has Dr Petri even agreed to see us?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Alex had left a voicemail with the doctor suggesting he would like to speak again about Victor Lazar. He left out the part where he was coming over to Romania and would be there in person later that day.

  ‘I checked his lecture timetable online,’ said Alex. ‘He’s running lectures until five thirty.’ Alex looked at his watch. ‘Which gives us an hour to check in and dump our stuff.’

  Sophie nodded and appeared to relax a little further. ‘You don’t think this is a wasted trip?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Whatever happened to Victor has its roots here, and Dr Petri knows or can find out. Everybody leaves a trace, even in this country, even in the eighties. There must have been state records, documents, fragments. I can’t believe someone as incredible as Victor is unknown here.’

  ‘You’re determined.’ Sophie smiled at him. ‘That’s a good thing.’ Her eyes once again sparkled with humour. ‘For someone in our profession, I mean. I said you were good at this.’

  Alex returned the smile, realising his determination had increased day by day. Their progress was minimal and the challenge great, but he felt positive. If Romania could give up some of its secrets, they might get a step closer to stopping Victor.

  He caught a wave of nausea as the taxi lurched across lanes – the travel-sickness pills must be wearing off – and stared out of the window. He’d never been to Romania before, or even to this part of the world. He hadn’t known what to expect. The highways were wide and new, but fewer cars adorned the roads than he was used to in the UK, and those that did moved across lanes as if the white lines didn’t exist. American-style gantries hung across the road at intersections, signals controlling the light traffic.

  The built-up industrial area near the airport gave way to trees and a huge park to their left as they crossed the river. The Dâmbovița was a tributary of the Danube, but its waters were slow here, coasting under the road and through the city.

  As they approached the inner city, both he and Sophie stared through their windows, taking in the impressive architecture and the contrast between blocks – some spotless and clean, others tarnished by graffiti and with crumbling brickwork. The mixture of old city and post-Communist buildings was unlikely to win any awards for beauty or style, but the streets looked modern and vibrant.

  They crawled into the centre and queued at several sets of traffic lights before the driver stopped, cursing, and pulled over.

  ‘Grand Boutique Hotel,’ he announced, without moving from his seat.

  Alex paid him in cash and they both stared at the rather grand hotel entrance. It was a substantially restored old building, with original features and ornamentation on the walls. The sandstone finish was old but clean.

  ‘Very reasonable, you say?’ said Alex. ‘You sure?’

  ‘This isn’t London,’ said Sophie, dragging her small wheeled suitcase up the steps. Alex noted that she travelled light, perhaps one other outfit in there, in addition to the old jeans and vest she was wearing. He found it endearing, after months of Jane’s exorbitant shopping habits. Jane wouldn’t be caught dead travelling with anything less than a full wardrobe.

  The hotel reception was warm and functional, as were the two single rooms Sophie had booked for them. They were on the first floor, overlooking a walled park, but after a cursory look around, Alex left his suitcase on the bed and locked his passport in the room safe. He checked his wallet, keys and Xanax, and headed back out again, rapping gently on Sophie’s door. She appeared, notepad in one hand and laptop in the other. She’d changed into a black skirt and blouse.

  ‘I’m the note-taker then,’ she said, eyeing his empty hands. Alex had his MacBook in his bag, but decided to leave it there. Today was for talking. They might not get anywhere, in which case they’d be straight back on a plane the following morning. If it turned out Dr Petri was in a collaborative mood tomorrow, he’d start documenting their findings then.

  They avoided another taxi in favour of the walk. It was warmer than in London and the fresh air helped to quell the growing unease in Alex’s gut. Like at the airport, Sophie was behaving strangely, staring at passers-by until they stared back.

  ‘Should I ask what’s wrong?’ said Alex.

  She turned to him. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, ‘I feel a little groggy. The flight.’

  ‘Could be,’ said Alex, not mentioning she’d been behaving like this before they’d even boarded. He couldn’t help glancing at her as they approached the university buildings. She noticed his gaze but didn’t say anything, and a wry smile on her lips suggested she didn’t mind. Alex took it as permission to let his mind wander and imagine the possibilities of being away for a night or two with Sophie.

  As they approached a crossroads and waited for the lights to change, Sophie turned to him.

  ‘Tell me something you love,’ she said.

  Alex was surprised but found himself answering quickly. ‘My daughter, Katie.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Another thing.’

  ‘My ex-wife. Grace.’ He paused. ‘But . . . I just want her to be OK. Happy. Am I making sense?’ Alex knew that wasn’t the truth. He loved Grace in every way possible, but saying that would change nothing and possibly spoil whatever he was creating with Sophie.

  Sophie nodded, turning her eyes back to the road. ‘Do you love your girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’ Alex’s response was quicker than he thought it should be. ‘Jane and I are not . . .’

  ‘OK.’ Sophie crossed the road without waiting for him. He hurried to catch up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The psychology faculty building was on P
anduri Street. It was a grand four-storey, stone-faced building in need of repair. Graffiti marred much of the lower walls, although attempts had been made in the past to wash it off.

  Sophie tilted her head to look up. ‘You know in the seventies psychology was outlawed in Romania? As an academic discipline?’

  Alex was pleased Sophie had done her background. He knew little of the history of this place and hadn’t had the time to read up.

  ‘The regime was worried any practical study of the mind would undermine Communist propaganda,’ she continued. ‘The Communist leader at the time – Nicolae Ceaușescu – decided to prohibit both the teaching and practice of psychology nationwide.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ said Alex.

  ‘I have a point,’ said Sophie, her face flushing. She looked puzzled by the graffiti.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Psychologists were transferred out to other departments. It wasn’t until 1990 that psychology was reinstituted as a discipline.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I thought it worth pointing out. Dr Petri said the university was sponsoring orphanages for the purposes of research. But there wasn’t a psychology department in the eighties. Not anywhere in Romania.’

  Alex frowned. Until now he’d assumed the university would know all the details, however buried. But perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps Victor was a ghost from a deleted past. But it didn’t explain who had created Victor. If not the university psychologists, then who?

  There was no security on the building entrance and they followed the signs for the lecture theatres, of which there were two. They paused outside number one while Alex checked the lecture details on his phone.

  ‘He’s in here, finishing shortly,’ said Alex, checking his watch. ‘Shall we?’

  The door creaked open. The hall was large, half-filled with undergrads all facing a small wiry figure at the front, who was gesturing wildly at the projector screen. The slide changed to show a bulleted list of reference material, prompting a good-natured groan from many of the listeners near the front. Dr Petri said something Alex didn’t understand and the same students erupted in laughter. The doctor had the respect and attention of his group, and Alex’s mind drifted to his own postgrad days and thoughts of lecturing himself. It was never too late – with his specialism he’d have no trouble getting slots as a visiting lecturer.