by J. A. Kalis
Warily, his steps brisk, Patrick made his way through a badly-lit maze of narrow streets, slightly afraid for his safety. As he rounded another corner he found himself on a broader lane flanked by trees on one side. It was practically deserted, save for two couples walking hurriedly and a group of people standing close to a car parked at a kerb. Getting closer, he saw they weren’t just standing but pushing and pulling at each other. It took him a moment to realize what was going on. They were struggling. Not wanting to get involved, he decided to ignore them and just pass by, making a wide circle.
A few more paces and he stopped short. Something caught his attention. He was now close enough to make out who the wrestling figures were. Two males and two females. His eyes fixed on the women. The clothes they were wearing. Their hair-cuts.
He had seen them before.
There was no mistaking it. These were the same two young women who had been harassed earlier in the restaurant. His gaze moved towards the two male silhouettes. They too looked familiar. His eyes took in the sturdy-build, the crew-cut and short beard, the faded blue jeans and the white T-shirt. It was the harasser from the restaurant. The second man, tall, slim, clean-shaven with slick black hair and a fringe roughly touching his eyebrows, was one of his friends. He wore jeans and a black leather jacket over a dark T-shirt, and looked like a tough guy.
They must have followed the girls, and were now trying to drag them into their car.
Where were they going to take them?
What were they going to do to them? Rape them? Kill them?
This wasn’t a minor harassment. The situation had escalated; the girls were in danger. The girl with shoulder-length hair, the one who reminded Patrick of Sandy, had already been pushed halfway in through the passenger door. Although she resisted fiercely, it was clear she couldn’t keep it up for long. Desperately, she attempted to fight the man off. In vain. Most of the time her attacker was beyond the reach of her futile punches and wild kicks. Her friend, the short-haired girl, seemed to be doing a bit better. But she was no match for the other man. Soon, he would overpower her. It was just a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds. There was no time to lose.
Anger boiled inside him. His chest heaved in quick, short breaths. His hands clenched into fists. Again, instead of the raven-haired girl’s face he saw Sandy’s. It was his daughter who was being attacked. Something inside him snapped; he just couldn’t stand still and watch. He had to help them. And he had to act fast.
He lurched forward, closing the distance in the blink of an eye, grabbing the crew-cut guy by his arm, pulling it hard. Startled, the man turned around. Seizing the opportunity, Patrick punched him in the face with all his might, aiming between his mouth and his nose. Taken aback by the blow, the man lost his grip on the girl. She fell back onto the passenger seat of the car. The brute staggered but steadied himself against the car door while a grimace of pain distorted his face. Blood oozed from his smashed nose and broken lip, dripping onto his white T-shirt. He moaned, then yelled something that Patrick though must have been a swearword in Georgian. The man raised his right hand to his wounded face, touching it in disbelief, smearing the blood around. Then he balled his hand into a fist and it aimed at Patrick. Patrick dodged the blow, stepping aside at the last moment.
‘Run. Call for help. Now!’ he shouted to the girl, now sitting petrified on the passenger seat, staring ahead with unblinking eyes. She didn’t react. Leaning forward he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the car. There, on the pavement, she just kept standing motionless as if entranced.
‘Run! Quick!’
Maybe she doesn’t understand English, he thought. Or she’s too stunned to react.
All of a sudden, a sharp pain exploded in Patrick’s thigh and back. A pair of strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled them. It was the other man. Patrick spun around and dealt a savage kick to the side of his knee. He heard a yell and a grunt. Instantly, he felt another burst of pain in his side. Before he’d even had time to check what caused it, two more followed – in his stomach and face. Blinded, in part by the hard blows and in part by fury, he kept fighting back. Frantic, he rammed a fist into his attacker’s stomach and then a few hard punches wherever he managed to reach.
Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw both girls run away to safety. Maybe they would finally call for help.
Would it come on time? Should he follow them? Flee as fast as he could?
Yes, that was the most reasonable thing to do now, he concluded. Faced with an enemy superior in number and strength, he figured he wasn’t going to win the fight.
His inner voice urged him: Don’t waste another second. Move now. Quick!
But he wasn’t able to move.
The second attacker cornered him. Enraged and adrenaline-fuelled, he wasn’t going to let him go. More blows and bursts of pain followed until Patrick’s body went numb. The strength drained from him. He closed his eyes and stood immobile, passively waiting for more blows. But none came. As if from a distance, he heard movement and then the clunk of a car door being shut, accompanied by the sound of a car engine revving. Then silence.
Seconds ticked by, turning to minutes.
Nothing changed. All was quiet.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The men were nowhere to be seen. Their car was gone.
He took a deep breath. Gradually, the feeling returned to his body. Every part of it throbbed with pain. He hurt like hell. His head felt heavy. He swayed. His legs nearly buckled beneath him. He staggered forward several steps and braced himself against the nearest tree for support. The sound of quick footsteps and agitated voices reached his ears. Alarmed, he turned around. The two young women were heading his way, with two men in tow. He exhaled, relieved. He needed their help.
‘Are you okay? I hope those brutes didn’t hurt you too much. Cowards. They left when they saw us coming.’ The shoulder-length haired girl addressed him in good English. ‘You saved me and my friend. I am very grateful to you for that. If you hadn’t come to our rescue I don’t know what they would have done to us. We were so frightened. I have lost my phone so I couldn’t call for help. Luckily my cousins live close by.’ She pointed at the two men. ‘Oh, but you need to be taken care of. You are bleeding. Your injuries might be serious. You need to see a doctor. Can you walk?’
‘It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I think it looks worse than it really is.’ He winced in pain. ‘I just need to get back to my hotel and lie down.’ He took a few steps forward but with each one, pain shot up his thigh and back. Clenching his jaw not to show he was hurting, he kept walking.
‘Are you sure? Don’t worry, we’ll take you there. By the way, my name is Natia.’ She held out her hand. He shook it.
‘Patrick.’
‘This is my friend Tamar.’ She pointed at the short-haired girl. ‘And my cousins are Giorgi and Akim. None of them speak English though.’
She said something in Georgian to Akim, who left momentarily and returned in a dark-coloured station wagon. When he pulled up at the kerb, Patrick stepped inside, and the two of them drove straight to Patrick’s hotel.
***
The next day, Patrick awoke at eight o’clock. Pain soared through his head, blood pounding in his temples. He lay in bed for a few minutes, motionless, just watching the bright morning light filtering through the cracks in the dark curtains. Then, gritting his teeth, he got to his feet. The movement made his head spin. The dull pain throbbing throughout his whole body reminded him what had happened the day before.
He got up and walked to the mirror. His reflection confirmed his suspicions that his face was badly beaten. It was swollen, bruised, and one of his eyes was black.
He realized that in his present state, he wasn’t capable of going back to the village with the unpronounceable name just yet. He could hardly walk without wincing in pain. He needed some time to recuperate before resuming his search.
He hobbled back to the bed, took a sleeping tablet and fell into a
deep sleep.
***
When he awoke in the clammy heat of the afternoon, he felt groggy, but decided to look through his emails. He was just getting into a sitting position in the bed when his phone rang. The number shown on the display was unknown to him. He answered the call on the third ring.
It was Natia.
She invited him to dinner to thank him for saving herself and Tamar. After a moment of hesitation, he accepted the invitation. His body hurt all over and his face looked beaten, but he would prefer to spend the evening in company. He needed to get out of his room.
Two hours later they met in the hotel lobby. Wasting no time, they got into her car and drove to a restaurant well-known to her. It was a quiet place, located outside the city centre, decorated simply but cosily. Inside, only two tables were occupied. Natia chose a table in a far corner where they could talk undisturbed. Patrick couldn’t help but notice she was wearing make-up and dressed in expensive looking clothes, as though she wanted to make a good impression on him.
Is she flirting with me? he wondered. Or perhaps this was her usual way of dressing. He’d been too preoccupied to notice what she was wearing the evening before. He couldn’t help but admit she was a striking looking girl.
He, on the contrary, with his swollen, bruised face and black eye, didn’t look like suitable company. But she didn’t seem to mind. Neither did the other diners. Nobody stared at him. Nobody seemed to notice.
Sitting across from her, he could see no resemblance to Sandy. Only their age was roughly the same, and something in the way she smiled.
The waiter came over to their table and took their order. When he left, Natia fixed her eyes on his. ‘What brought you to Georgia? Not many foreigners come here. Is it the mountains? Are you a hiker?’
‘Oh, as a matter of fact I’m not on holiday here. Well, technically speaking I am, but I didn’t come here to enjoy myself. I came to look for my daughter, Sandy; she’s missing.’
‘You haven’t found her?’
‘No, I haven’t. I went to the place she stayed but found no trace of her.’ He paused, exhaling deeply. ‘It’s almost been ten days now. Nobody’s seen or heard from her since. The police have no clue where she is or what might have happened to her. I hope they’re looking for her; I’m afraid her trail may go cold if they wait too long.’
Their food arrived. Patrick waited until the waiter left before telling her all he knew about his daughter’s disappearance and his desperate search for her. He felt strangely at ease with her and it felt good to share his story – like a weight had been lifted. Natia listened without interrupting, hardly eating anything, slowly sipping her red wine. Gradually, her expression changed. Her big, dark eyes lost their sparkling vivacity. Instead, compassion and sorrow appeared in them.
When he’d finished, they were both silent for a long moment. Then Natia said, ‘How terrible. I can imagine how hard it is for you not to know where she is or what’s happened to her. It must be awful. All this tension, fearing the worst … But how come nobody knows her whereabouts? She couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. But it’s true that walking in those mountains can be dangerous. The tracks are badly marked; the weather may change abruptly. I must help you find her. You saved me and Tamar. A favour for a favour.’
‘How can you help? The police know where to look for—’
‘You shouldn’t count too much on the local police. The crime rate here is high, and they’re busy day and night. But it’s good you’ve met me. I can help you. Really. My father is a very rich man, with a prominent position in the country. He knows many important people. And he’ll do anything for me. I only need to ask. If your daughter didn’t leave Georgia, his people are going to find her. I can promise you that.’
CHAPTER 6
Two days after she’d learnt the name of the place where Corinne Bonnet lived, Carol left for France. Alone. Something urgent had come up at Mike’s work, and his boss had refused to give him any time off. At least that was the reason he had given for not being able to go with her.
Her initial reaction to his announcement was disappointment, followed closely by anger. It was not the first time he’d let her down. And it always seemed to happen when she needed him most. She knew he was lying, making up a lame excuse in an attempt to soothe her anger. He was a coward, not even daring to admit the truth. The more she thought about his behaviour the more she thought that he had never intended to go with her in the first place. He really didn’t care about her or her missing sister.
But by the time Carol arrived in France, her anger had ebbed away, her mind fully occupied with the task ahead.
Mike was the only person who knew the real purpose of her journey. Not to worry her mother, she told her she needed some rest and was going to take a week’s holiday. To appease some of the guilt she felt deep down, she promised to call each day.
A rush of warm air carrying a slight scent of grass and wildflowers greeted her the moment she stepped out of her rental car. Curious, she took in her surroundings. After hours of seeing the unimpressive landscapes outside the car window, she was glad to see something else for a change. She had to admit that her travel destination – the small village of Rocamadour – was a pleasant surprise. The houses seemed to be carved out of the rock itself, clinging to the side of the steep limestone wall overlooking a deep gorge, with a narrow ribbon of a river flowing through it. A medieval castle was perched on top of the cliff, adding even more charm to the already lovely picture.
Despite the long, exhausting journey, energy and excitement buzzed through Carol’s veins. Would she soon find out what had happened to her little sister? The prospect made her dizzy with anticipation as well as anxious about what she might discover. But no matter what, she had to know the truth. Eager to find Corinne and speak to her, she hurried towards the guesthouse she had booked online the day before.
It was deep into the afternoon and sweltering hot. Weaving her way through the crowd of tourists filling up the long street at the bottom of the towering rock wall, she eventually arrived at a building with the name of her guesthouse – La Belle Etoile – on a plaque on the wall. It was pleasantly cool in the simple, country-house style lobby. Apart from a couple standing in a corner, scanning some flyers, and a young woman behind the dark wooden reception counter, it was empty.
Ten minutes later she climbed the stairs to the first floor, carrying a small suitcase in one hand and in the other an old-style hotel room key with a heavy metal tag attached to it by a piece of wire.
Once in her room, she called her mother to let her know she was okay. Although she hadn’t forgiven Mike for letting her go alone, she called him too.
When she’d finished talking, she took a quick shower and changed her clothes. Feeling refreshed, she descended to the dining room. While she waited for the food to arrive, she planned her next move. She could hardly wait to get into action and start looking for Corinne. It shouldn’t be difficult to find her here; the village was small, with only a handful of hotels in it. She’d be able to check them all within about half an hour.
There was, however, one thing she hadn’t yet made up her mind about. She wasn’t sure how to react when she found Corinne. Aware of the possibility that both Corinne and Lucien had something to do with her sister’s disappearance, she had to tread carefully to avoid scaring them away. After some consideration, she decided the most reasonable thing would be not to reveal her identity straight away, but to follow Corinne for a day or two, try to find out more about her and her relationship with Lucien.
***
An hour later, Carol was back at the guesthouse, disheartened, her quest having proved unsuccessful. She had checked all the hotels in the village and asked each desk clerk whether he or she knew Corinne, showing them Corinne’s picture. But none of them did.
Communicating in French had turned out to be a challenge. Her French skills had become rusty over the years. In order to grasp what the natives meant, she’d had to ask t
hem a few times to repeat their answers, each time a bit slower. Some of them tried to respond in English but that didn’t help, because they pronounced the words in such an odd way that she couldn’t understand what they said. But, putting aside the language problems, none of the people she’d asked had steered her in the right direction. Most of them eyed her suspiciously before responding and they all wanted to know why she was looking for Corinne. People here seemed to be of the mistrustful type.
As she neared the guesthouse, a sudden fatigue assailed her. Her previous buzz of energy was gone. She decided to have an early night and undertake another round of searches in the morning.
But, on seeing the front desk clerk standing alone behind the counter, she was unable to resist the urge to make one last attempt. She knew this was a guesthouse rather than a hotel, but it was worth a try.
‘I wonder if you could help me. Do you know this young woman? I need to talk to her. She works in a hotel here around. Unfortunately, I don’t know which one,’ Carol said in broken French, showing the receptionist Corinne’s photo.
The desk clerk looked briefly at the photo and then at Carol, her eyes squinting in suspicion. ‘Oh, it’s mademoiselle Bonnet. Why do you need her? Is there something wrong with your room or our service? Aren’t you satisfied? You can tell me what the problem is and I will try to fix it.’
‘Oh no, it has nothing to do with my stay at the hotel. I’m fine here. I just want to talk to her about a private matter. Do you know where I can find her?’
‘You will meet her tomorrow.’
‘Sorry, what do you mean?’
‘You don’t understand? It’s simple. Her parents own this hotel. She works here. Only today, she has a day off.’
‘Oh!’ As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to look that far.
***
The next day, Carol woke up early, feeling quite refreshed. She decided to change her earlier plans. Following Corinne seemed like a waste of time. She should speak to her as soon as possible. She couldn’t wait any longer. The desire to know what had happened to her sister was too strong. On the way to breakfast, she saw the young woman whom she wanted so desperately to meet standing in the reception area talking to a blond-haired man in a navy shirt and sand-beige chinos. At the other end of the reception counter, she spotted a couple with two teenage daughters.