During his short visit, David seemed serious and withdrawn. He seemed oblivious to us and didn’t partake in any conversations at the table. Aunt Helen watched this development anxiously, and visited her son in England. Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore and enrolled David back in his old high school in Düsseldorf.
I had just finished baking vanilla cookies with Agathe when I saw a taxi slowly make its way up the snow-covered driveway. I pressed my nose against the kitchen window and watched David get out of the car and stand there contemplating the house. He appeared startled when the taxi driver handed him his suitcase from the trunk. With nervous movements, David paid the old man, took the bag, and walked up to the house.
Strangely, though, I didn’t hear the front door open. Why hadn’t David come in? If he didn’t have a key, he could just ring the bell.
Confused, I took the tin of vanilla cookies—which I planned to smuggle to my room; otherwise, every cookie would fall victim to Lukas—and went to the front door. I opened it to find David sitting on the top step, smoking.
He turned around at the sound of the door opening and looked at me. “Don’t you want to come in?” I asked, holding the door open invitingly.
David shook his head, looked back at the snowy driveway, and took another drag on his cigarette.
Unsure what to do, I simply watched him. At seventeen, he seemed immensely grown-up to me as he sat there in his navy-blue duffle coat and smoked illicitly.
A thick cloud of white smoke swirled in front of David’s serious, pale face. He seemed to have already forgotten about me. “David, it’s starting to get cold,” I said as I wrapped my shivering arms around myself.
He stubbed out his cigarette and mumbled something unintelligible.
“What was that?” I was becoming impatient.
“Nothing.”
If we stayed in the cold much longer, we’d be in danger of getting frostbite. “David, please come in,” I tried once again.
He coughed. “I don’t dare.”
“What?” I looked at him, bewildered. In my imagination, David feared nothing and no one.
David’s head dropped.
I sat down next to him and opened the cookie tin.
“Do you want one?”
He sighed and then reluctantly took a cookie.
“Thanks.”
“Why don’t you dare come into the house?”
“Hmm, I wonder.” He took a bite of the cookie and chewed. I could, of course, think of the reason, but I tried to cheer him up anyway. “We’re all excited you’re back.”
David looked at me skeptically. “You don’t even believe that yourself.”
I shoved a cookie into my mouth to avoid having to respond to that.
“But I find it kind of you to at least try,” he said as he stood up and gave me his hand.
I took it reluctantly and let him pull me up. I looked at him quizzically, my heart beating rapidly.
“Thank you.” He squeezed my hand, still not letting it go.
“My pleasure,” I said and then handed him the cookie tin. “Here, think of this as my welcome-home present.”
Smiling, David accepted the cookies and followed me into the warm foyer.
As I wistfully recalled the day David had come back into my life, I stopped indecisively in the driveway. I had planned to go out and take some pictures, but I no longer felt like it. I turned and headed back to the house, where I appeared to be completely alone. David was on his way to the hospital, Aunt Helen had an appointment with her notary, Kristina and Lukas were at the university, and Agathe was at the market. I didn’t need to worry about Uncle Justus, because he only showed up at the main house for meals; otherwise, he was up to no good in the orangery.
It was the perfect time to do some snooping around. I headed upstairs and was wondering where I should start when the border of the wallpaper caught my eye. Next to the door of the guest room, the flourishes and ornamentation hung down in shreds.
An ice-cold chill ran down my spine as I thought about my nightmare from the night before, in which I’d heard scratching and scraping in the hall. Apparently, it hadn’t been a dream. But who would have done such a thing?
I grew all the more determined to find out who was behind it all. I entered my room and set my camera bag on the dresser. I wasn’t too creeped out, but I absolutely had to get to the bottom of this.
I thought it unlikely that I would find a typewriter and a tidy stack of blank white cards in any of the rooms, but you never knew. The question was where to start.
I opened the door to Kristina’s room, which was located right next to the guest room. At first, I thought that I’d opened the wrong door, because the once fairy tale–like pink girl’s room was now outfitted in a cool Bauhaus style. The angular leather Le Corbusier sofa and the glass-and-steel desk really didn’t fit with my dreamy cousin.
I walked over to her immaculate desk and randomly opened a drawer; its contents were painstakingly organized. I envied people who could keep things so effortlessly in order, because I myself magically attracted chaos. But I didn’t find anything suspicious and only ended up feeling guilty as I left my cousin’s room.
Which room should I venture into next? I found it galling that I had to go prowling around like this, but I knew I wouldn’t find any peace until I had found out who wanted to drive me out of Düsseldorf—and above all, why.
My gaze landed on the door at the end of the hall—the door that led to my uncle’s office. It had always held a tremendous fascination for me, because as children we had been strictly prohibited from entering it. Though I could obviously eliminate my uncle as a suspect, I was nonetheless curious.
I headed down the hall, the thick carpet absorbing my steps. I desperately hoped I wouldn’t be caught.
The massive door creaked softly as I opened it onto my uncle’s sanctuary. Law books, case studies, and documents were piled high on the many shelves. An enormous oak desk with elaborate carvings and huge lion’s heads on the legs occupied the center of the room. On the only wall that wasn’t covered in shelves hung framed documents and paintings that had been given to my uncle over the years.
Because the room hadn’t been used for several days, the air was stale. I went to open the glass door to the balcony and drank in the fresh air. The aromatic scent of the numerous bergamot saplings that stood in terra-cotta pots along the railing wafted up to me.
I sat down in the massive chair and gazed at the many silver picture frames that were neatly arranged along the left wall of the office. One showed Uncle Matthias and Aunt Helen running hand in hand down the aisle between their wedding guests after their wedding ceremony as red rose petals rained down on them. They appeared happy and carefree.
The next photo must have been taken shortly after Lukas and Kristina’s birth. A tired Aunt Helen lay in a hospital bed, one twin in each arm. The look she was giving the photographer—my uncle—set me on edge. It was an intimate moment that was really only meant for the two of them. In the next picture, the entire family was gathered in front of a huge Christmas tree in the living room. I groaned at the sight. I must have been thirteen at the time, and I was wearing a black eye patch. A few days before Christmas, I had decided to dress up as Darth Vader, and with my homemade lightsaber, I had dueled with Lukas, a.k.a. Luke Skywalker. Unfortunately, I had lost and walked away with an injured cornea.
The next picture made up for it though. It showed me with my parents a year later at Lake Maggiore. In the photo, we’re laughing, blinded by the glaring sun. My hair was still long at the time. I was wearing my favorite green dress, and my old Leica camera hung around my neck on a well-worn strap. It was the summer I had discovered my love of photography and I’d spent all my time observing the world from behind a lens.
I carefully opened the drawers and was surprised to find my uncle’s favor
ite watch, an old Jaeger-LeCoultre, lying carelessly in a hodgepodge of pens and notepads. Puzzled, I picked up the heavy watch, which my uncle normally wore every day, and admired the clock face, which allowed a view into its ornate interior. I turned it over and studied the delicate engraving. “Forever Yours. Helen.” I carefully set the watch back in the drawer and closed it.
The wind carried the scent of bergamot into the office, and I smiled. One of my first memories of my uncle stemmed from this room. Uncle Matthias sat at the antique desk, concentrating on some papers, the leaves of the little bergamot trees swaying in the wind behind him.
Whenever I smelled bergamot anywhere, I was immediately transported back to my childhood and all the happy hours I had spent in this house.
I was just glancing back at the wedding photo when I heard footsteps. I quickly bolted the door to the balcony and left the office. Just as I shut the door and started to walk away, Uncle Justus came around the corner. “Elisa,” he said. “A word.”
I had a feeling of foreboding. His tone told me to expect the worst. “Yes?” I asked, trying not to let my anxiety show. “What is it?”
He planted himself before me. “I’d like to ask you to not keep bringing up Matthias’s health in front of Helen. My sister has already been through enough.”
“I only briefly asked about visiting hours at the hospital the day before yesterday. Am I not even allowed to do that?”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” I looked resentfully into his face, which possessed his sister’s beautiful features, but his expression was cold and arrogant. “You could have asked anyone else about that, couldn’t you?”
“Certainly,” I admitted. “I just wanted to make sure that you approved of when I visited him.”
“That’s noble of you, but I would like to avoid upsetting her.”
“I see where you’re coming from, but isn’t it always better to be prepared for the worst?”
“I think that’s a myth.” With these sarcastic words, he turned on his heel and marched away at his typical snappy clip.
He left me as baffled as he always did.
My confrontation with Uncle Justus had taken its toll, so I went downstairs to see Agathe, who was just back from the store, and find solace in a piece of Black Forest cake.
“Dear, why such a face?” she asked as she set the cake on my plate.
“I just ran into Uncle Justus in the hall and he was as charming as ever.”
“Oh, don’t take him so seriously.”
“If only it were that easy.” I sighed and dug my fork into the cake.
Agathe waved a hand dismissively. “He’s only happy when he’s humiliating other people. You can’t give him that satisfaction.”
I nodded at her wise words. Sometimes it seemed that Agathe was the only reasonable person in the entire Westphal household. “The worst thing is that he doesn’t take me seriously. He still treats me like I’m fifteen.”
“Do you think that might be because of the way you dress?” she said, pointing to my sneakers.
“You’re right. I’m going downtown tomorrow,” I answered sullenly and continued to shovel cake into my mouth.
Frustrated by my unsuccessful sleuthing and stressed out by my encounter with Uncle Justus, I retreated to the garden. Miss Marple and Miss Moneypenny greeted me enthusiastically and led me over to a wooden bench by the picturesque pond. I sat down and let my gaze wander over the water lilies that overran the pond.
This was Aunt Helen’s favorite place. As a child, I had always wondered why she sat here for hours staring out at the pond. But now I understood. A deep calm came over me as I observed the water lilies swaying back and forth on the surface. I thought of Monet’s water lily paintings and recalled the countless museums I’d visited with Aunt Helen.
I heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway and saw David park, get out of his car, and walk quickly into the house.
I jumped up, eager to know what the doctors had said about Uncle Matthias.
When I got inside, I looked around the foyer, but didn’t see him. Then I heard voices coming from the kitchen.
As I entered the kitchen, I caught sight of David and Agathe sitting next to each other at the table and conversing excitedly. Agathe looked over and beamed at me. “There’s good news from the hospital.”
“Really?” I could hardly believe it.
“Yes, he already looks much better,” said David, gesturing for me to sit.
I sat down on the stool and looked hopefully at David.
“Dad was feeling much better this morning, and the EKG showed that there were no more abnormalities.”
“When will he be allowed to come home?”
“Soon.” David looked at me, relieved, and patted an emotional Agathe on the arm. “Agathe, what is it?”
“I’m so happy,” she answered as she wiped her moist eyes.
“Do you know how happy he’ll be not to have to eat that terrible hospital food anymore?” said David with a smile.
“As soon as Herr Westphal is home, I’ll cook his favorite dish: meatballs in caper sauce.” Agathe looked for a tissue and blew her nose. “With loads of capers,” I added, smiling.
David looked as though he wanted to say more, but several of the relatives walked into the kitchen just then—along with, much to my dismay, Valerie—to find out what David had to report.
The farther I went down the steep stairs, the more I lost myself in the cool silence. My thoughts had solidified, giving me a moment of peace. I savored the scent that wafted through the vaulted basement. It smelled like dusty histories and buried secrets.
The door to the darkroom shone black and drew me toward it. Darkness surrounded me, causing me to pause.
Black, everything was black. Soothing yet dangerous.
I turned the red light on and looked around. The prints that Elisa had developed still hung on the wall, ridiculing me.
The warm red light invaded me and propelled me forward. A pulsing anger surged through me. In a mad frenzy, I ripped the photographs off the clothesline and shredded them until they were nothing more than tiny scraps. The flakes fluttered to the floor like a shower of ash.
After an unusually harmonious dinner—brought on by the news of Uncle Matthias’s speedy recovery—I went down to the cellar and headed into the darkroom. Because I never wanted to get locked in again, I removed the key and pocketed it.
But as I turned on the red light, it was like I’d been electrocuted. My prints lay shredded on the dusty floor, the scraps spread to every corner. The developing trays lay crushed on the floor; it looked as if someone had trampled them.
Splinters bored into my hands as I picked them up.
Who would do such a thing? Whoever had been here must have been beside themselves with anger. At first I hadn’t taken the messages all that seriously, though I had become somewhat concerned when I’d discovered the traces of scratches next to my door.
But now I knew what it meant to be afraid. This dread was unlike the fear of illness or ordinary violence. I understood what it felt like when someone wanted true harm to come to you. Worst of all, I had no idea what I had done to deserve this.
Back in my room, I found yet another little white card. I emitted a muted cry as I read the message:
No sin remains unpunished.
What was going on here? What sin had I committed? Panic surged through me. Who could I talk to? No one. Though I hated the thought, I had to accept that everyone was a suspect. Because I didn’t understand the motive of the author of these messages, I couldn’t make sense of who was behind them. And I didn’t dare speak indiscriminately about my suspicions.
I locked my door when I went to bed that night.
Wednesday
I woke early the next morning to the sound of rain pattering against my window. I snugg
led into the soft pillow in an effort to escape back into my dreamworld. The soothing drumming of the raindrops let me fall back into a light sleep. The rain had faded to a trickle when I opened my eyes again a short while later. I stayed in bed and went back over the events of the day before in my mind. My excitement over the news that Uncle Matthias was well on the way to recovery had unfortunately been tarnished by what had happened the night before in the darkroom.
I considered taking my mother’s advice and moving to a hotel for the rest of my visit. But why had she told me to do that? I would try to call her again later.
After breakfast, I gathered all of my courage and knocked on Kristina’s door. As I stared at the wood grain of the old door, I tried to compose the right words in my mind. Lukas and David had forgiven me for turning my back on the family, but with Kristina, there was more to it. When I heard her soft “Come in,” I slowly pushed open the door.
Kristina sat at her desk with her laptop, her back turned to me.
“Am I interrupting you?” I asked.
“No,” she answered, turning her chair toward me and pointing to the black leather sofa next to her desk. “Sit down.”
“Thank you.” I sat down sheepishly on the cushion. It was so strange to be treating each other like adults.
Kristina appeared to be waiting for me to speak first.
“You don’t seem very happy to see me,” I blurted out. This had been bothering me ever since my arrival.
Kristina didn’t seem to have an answer to that. I watched her as she played with a lock of hair that she twirled around her finger.
We looked at each other in silence until I couldn’t take it any longer.
“I’m really sorry that . . .” But I broke off there because Kristina jumped up and began pacing around the room.
Shuttered Life Page 6