Strangers: A Novel(7)

He can’t have gotten this information online. Or by following me. He must have spoken to people who know me. Who told him what makes me tick, what I like, what I don’t like …

He’s still blocking the door. His gaze wanders over my face, like he’s looking for something he lost.

“One more question,” he says. “Something different, something that has more to do with you as a person, with your history, with this house, our life together.”

“I asked you two questions, and you couldn’t answer either of them.”

He closes his eyes, looking tormented. “Please,” he says. “Stop talking to me that way. You can’t imagine how—” He interrupts himself. “You don’t remember what my name is, do you?”

I cross my arms in front of my chest. “I never knew.”

A stunned shake of the head. “This is so … unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry. But I can do the guessing this time if you want.” Now the man looks vulnerable, and hope is slowly growing within me that perhaps I can get the situation under my control after all. At least enough so I can flee from this room.

My suggestion makes the stranger’s eyes light up. “Yes—that’s a great idea! Maybe your consciousness saved some information, then everything else will fall into place.” He takes a step toward me. “Just say the first name that comes into your mind,” he says in an imploring tone. “Without thinking about it.”

I do exactly as he asks, and the result is surprisingly clear in my mind. “Ben.”

Wrong. I can see it in his face. In any other situation, his disappointment would have awoken my sympathy. But now it’s giving me a further advantage I have to exploit.

“OK, so not Ben. I’ll ask you another question. One last one, OK?”

He nods in resignation, in a way that shows he’s lost hope.

“There on the wall, above the wardrobe—do you see it? That little round hole?”

No, he can’t, there’s no way he could from where he’s standing. I beckon him closer, even though I don’t feel comfortable about it. “There, do you see? What made that hole?”

I take a step back to make space for him. One step, then another, toward the door. By the time he sees there’s nothing there, I want to be out of the room already and put as much space between us as possible so he can’t grab me again.

“But there was never,” I hear him say as I fling the door open and run out onto the landing … toward the stairs, quickly, two steps at once, please don’t fall now.

“Joanna!”

He comes after me, of course, but I’m almost downstairs already, almost at the front door.…

Which is locked.

My keychain is hanging on the hook, where it belongs. I grab for it; it slips out of my fingers, falls to the floor with a clinking sound.

“Jo! Please, you can’t just run out like this!”

I’ve got the key in my hand again, and there’s still time. I manage to get it in the lock on the first try, turn it once, twice, press down the handle. The cool evening air rushes to meet me.

Then, a jolt. I’m torn backward with a force that pulls me down to the floor. The next moment, the door slams shut again with a loud thud.

I jump up, try to get past him, if he hasn’t locked it again I still have a chance, but he grabs my arms so tightly that I scream.

“Do you really want everyone to see you like this?” he yells. “Are you trying to get yourself committed?”

I struggle against him, with all my strength, but I have no chance. So I go slack and just let myself fall.

He wasn’t expecting that. I make him lose his balance, he almost falls onto me. At the last moment he turns to the side, without letting go of my wrists.

Only now do I realize I’m crying.

He sees it too. He lays his forehead against mine, his breathing fitful. “You need help, Jo.”

He’s damn right about that. And as soon as he lets me go …

“Look at me,” he demands. His voice sounds like he’s close to tears himself.

I do what he asks. Our faces are so close now, for a moment I’m afraid he’s going to kiss me.

“Let me go.”

He shakes his head. “Erik,” he blurts out. “My name is Erik.” He waits, as though he really thinks his name will mean something to me.

“Erik,” I repeat obediently, then feel his grip loosen a little, as though the name was some kind of password.

I wrench my hands away, pull myself up, try to push him away from me, but the very next moment the man’s weight pushes me back down to the floor again. His breath is hot in my face.

“Don’t do that, Jo. I just want to help you. And I will.”

His last word is underlined by a loud ringing. The doorbell. Someone’s at the door.





4

I jump, startled. Never has the doorbell seemed as loud to me as it does in this moment. Joanna stops struggling almost immediately, I feel her grow motionless beneath me.

There’s a flash of hope in her eyes that someone who’ll help her is outside the door. My thoughts tumble through my mind. We’re not expecting anyone.

Crazily enough, I feel guilty, and what’s more, a twinge of panic. Like I really am a burglar or a madman.