A WORK OF FICTION by MARR

I He was too restless to sleep, so he went out for a walk. He wandered aimlessly through the narrow streets. There was a chill in the air. He turned up his collar against the wind. He dug his hands into his pockets. He spent the whole day walking. Toward evening, dark clouds gathered. The first drops of rain splashed on the ground. It was beginning to rain. A feeling of despair enveloped him. He was starting to feel sick. He began the long trudge back. He climbed up the steps slowly. A wrought-iron spiral staircase. The stairs were carpeted in a lovely shade of red. Soon the ascent grew steeper and he began to tire. He arrived on the top floor out of breath. Cold as it was, the climb had sweated him. He unlocked the door to his room. He stripped off his clothes. He stood in the shower for twenty minutes. Exhausted, he collapsed on the bed. The ashtray by the bed was crammed with cigarette butts. Rain slithered down the windows, encouraging a creeping melancholia. It evoked a memory but he couldn't pin it down. He felt an undefined longing. He remembered with sudden guilt the letter from his mother that he had not yet read. He was so tired that he found it hard to think, never mind talk. He sat staring deep into the void, reminding himself of his place in the cosmos. The doctors said she had only six months to live. I'd better give her a ring tomorrow. *** The shades of evening drew on. Clouds hid the moon. It was obvious a storm was coming in. The rain had not stopped for days. Outside, the wind was as wild as ever. The house was strangely quiet. Everywhere was in darkness. A shadow crossed Maria's face. An uncanny feeling that she was being watched. Her room was lit by a single naked bulb. The shadows were more intangible than usual as they shifted with each quavering bough and passing cloud. She drew the curtains and lit the fire. Flames danced in the fireplace. The lights flickered and changed color. She drew her chair closer to the fire. The light struck her ring, reflecting off the diamond. The play of light on the diamond's multifaceted surface a presentiment of disaster. She had a letter from Mark. Her name was lettered in gold. She tore open the envelope. The words had been printed in blue type. With a sense of foreboding she read the note: I ask you to find it in your heart to forgive me. The letter was a manifestation of his guilt. A tear traced a lonely path down her cheek. She drew back the curtains and looked out. She stood at the window looking at the town spread out below. A host of memories rushed into her mind. The heroine was a lady with a past. Beneath the gloss of success was a tragic private life. Shrouded in an eerie veil of mist. *** The two of them lived for a time as man and wife. A perfect couple with the world at their feet. There are in fact two quite different types. She cared for him with a

devotion bordering on obsession. He was her one true love. She was the love of his life. She would always remember the moment they met. There was a spark between them at their first meeting. Their eyes lit up at a mention of Sartre. He was immediately attracted by her friendly smile. She had a thing about men who wore glasses. There was a bond of understanding between them. It all happened in an instant. There'll never be an instant quite like this again. They had established a strong and trusting relationship. She trusted him absolutely. She felt every emotion in the book of love. They did everything together. He was a very private man. He was very reserved and only opened out to her slowly. A renowned author, he had never confided in anyone before. A stunningly attractive, charismatic man. A remarkably intellectual man. A dark, melancholy young man with deep-set eyes. An aloof and somewhat austere figure. His misanthropic gloom His magnetic personality He was warm and tender toward her. She was beautiful and full of life. Her voice had a hypnotic quality. An intense young woman, passionate about her art. He was captivated by her youthful charm. Other people found her difficult. She was regarded as a bit of an oddity. Not but what the picture has its darker side. Sooner or later, she found out the truth about him. A man living under an assumed name, carrying emotional luggage from the past. His anger and frustration had been bottled up for years. He had to endure a great deal of suffering. He was not a well man. He was in and out of jail for most of his twenties. A complex personality. He was not of sound mind. He was mentally unstable. He had long periods of depression. His moods blew up suddenly out of a clear blue sky. I think, if truth be told, we were all a little afraid of him. His family had a history of insanity. They had had traumatic experiences in the war. He was tutored at home by his father. Fifteen years of literal hell. Everything in the house spoke of hard times and neglect. He was severely admonished by his father. An uncaring father. He had an authoritarian and at times belligerent manner. He witnessed the atrocities of war at close quarters. The war left its mark on him. An authoritarian regime. A strict upbringing. A time of harsh military discipline. He'd suffered intense pain, periods of intense misery. He committed suicide at the age of forty. He stood swaying, his arms hanging limply by his sides. He knew he'd always have this ghastly image imprinted on his mind. The image would be forever engraved in his memory. He gives a vivid description of his childhood in his autobiography. To be honest, I find his story incredible. It happened late in 1984, the week after, we went to Madrid. He vanished without a trace. He took his stuff and went. Unbelievable or not, it happened. He's just disappeared off the face of the earth like father, like son. He can't just leave like that. His love for her had never wavered. He decided to go, regardless. Two days later a letter arrived. In all honesty, there comes a point where you give up. I'm not sure how much longer I can bear the pain. All I want is to be left alone. She imagined him at his desk, his head in his hands She'd known all along.

He planned his departure with great care. He left behind him a manuscript which was subsequently published. Academics waited with great interest for the book. He went to Sweden without her. A European country. He could pass for a native of Sweden. A country that is isolated from the rest of the world. He found contentment in living a simple life in the country. For months he lived there purifying himself. Cozy waterfront cottage in a peaceful country setting. He lived a very isolated existence. He buried himself in his work. He wrote endlessly about his frustrations and miseries. Writing became the main outlet for his energies. He had an ability to convey a sense of deep melancholy and yearning through much of his work. He wrote under a pseudonym. Getting her life back on to an even keel after their breakup had been difficult. The experiences had colored her whole existence. It seemed impossible that anyone could endure such pain. The faint possibility of his returning The pain of not knowing. For years she had struggled to forget about him. She learned to discipline her emotions. Despite the passage of time she still loved him. She loved him, in spite of all the hurt he had caused her. Why did he do it? *** At one o'clock in the morning, he had just drifted off to sleep when the phone rang. It's me. I was kind of hoping youd call, his voice was low and shaky with emotion. I got your letter. I owe you an apology. I've made a mistake. It all got too much for me and I couldn't cope. I have changed in every way. She hesitated, suspicion kindling within her, conflicting emotions warred within her. She didn't mean to fall in love with him again. My feelings are so conflicted that I hardly know how to answer. I am not able to place any trust in you. I waited an eternity for you. The torture I've gone through because of loving you so. I will never ever forget it. I felt so wretched because I thought I might never see you again. She was deeply hurt. I understand how you feel, he sounded regretful but pointed out that he had committed himself. I had fallen through a trapdoor of depression, said Mark, who was fond of theatrical metaphors. The agony was both mental and physical. I did psychotherapy for yearsI wanted to find myself. Seeing an analyst was a very educational experience. She was silent for a moment before replying Is the pain still there? Yes, yes, damn you, the pain is always there. She immediately regretted her words. He broke down and sobbed like a child. I was under too much pressure, he declared. He despised himself for being selfish. I want to do what I can to make a difference. She hung on his every word. She paused, at a loss for words. After all the pain I've caused, is it possible to make amends? He's obviously trying to make amends for what he's done She tried to compose herself. He took a deep breath.

I hope to talk to you in person She fell silent for a moment. Let's have a drink. He insisted that she came. She accepted the invitation. She knew what she was doing Thank you, he said. Where do you stay? The hotel is a short walk from the sea. I'll be there at one. I'm really glad you're coming. She reread the letter. I ask you to find it in your heart to forgive me. Her face grew serious. The brief note read like a cry for help. A warning of things to come. She tore his letters to pieces. She would not forgive him. She swore she would never go back. All the old bitterness began to well up inside her again. It was difficult not to be overwhelmed with feelings of hate and revenge. Tears filled her eyes anew.

II She awoke the following morning. Sleep dulled her mind. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She opened a window to freshen the room. She contemplated her image in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen with crying. Her neck was reda sure sign of agitation. Her life felt empty and meaningless. She twisted her ring around and around on her finger. She was in the depths of despair. The wind howled about the building. The mirror fell to the floor, where it broke into pieces. Perhaps it was an omen of things to come. She tried to think herself into the part of Peter's fiance. The wedding is only weeks away. All the arrangements for the wedding were made. A noon wedding at St. Mark's. They have been dating for more than a year. They met by coincidence. An extraordinary coincidence. He intrigued her on their first meeting. He introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Fraser. He was dressed in an expensive grey suit. She stared at him in stunned disbelief. She had seen her husband's double. They seemed to resemble each other closely. A fortuitous resemblance. His face, with its clearly drawn features, was printed on her memory. The two men had little in common. They came from totally different backgrounds. Peter was a rather stuffy individual. He was a man of action rather than of intellect. Peter has done thirteen years in the RAF. He was an extraordinarily uncomplicated man. His love for her found an echo in her own feelings. He's a nicer man than Mark. His work takes him to France, Spain, and Germany. He is due back soon A knock on the door broke her reverie. I apologize for coming over unannounced like this. I've been trying to reach you all morning. Is everything OK? Have you and Peter had a row? Maria's eyes darkened in shade. She looked pale and upset. I can't bear to see you so unhappy. She was in an impossible situation. I got a letter from him the other day. Have you talked to him? Yes, I have. The time off did him a power of good. I'm not altogether sure that I'd trust him. I understand you completely. He's an independent soul, she commented. He accepts that he made a mistake. I had to bite my tongue and accept his explanation. Whatever you decide to do, I'll be behind you. You're too kind. Sit yourself down and I'll bring you some coffee. She sneaked a glance at her watch. She said she must be going. She could almost hear the tick of its works. It was time to go. I've got to go to the hotel, she began. You don't want to go. Yes, I do. With that, she flounced out of the room.

*** Clouds concealed the sun. It was raining heavily. Hundreds of birds hovered in the air. A multitude of birds, the bracing sea air. The hotel is surrounded by its own gardens. A man was working in the garden. The lobby of the hotel was virtually deserted. There was no one around. Not a soul in sight. The lobby was tiled in blue. Various shades of blue. An ornate fountain, and at its center, backdropped with golden spray, a statue of a young girl. They found a private place in which to talk. They sat opposite one another. He had piercing blue eyes. Guilt was written all over his face. The way he looked at her sent shivers down her spine. She was mesmerized by the blue eyes that stared so intently into her own. He was transfixed by the pain in her face. He twitched a cigarette out of a packet. Do you mind if I have a cigarette? May I have one? Certainly. He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. He blew a smoke ring. The smoke made her sneeze. There was a look about her that said everything. They sat looking at each other without speaking. Their expressions reflected their feelings. He yearned for a second chance. Would you like a drink? Yes, please. He leaned forward to take her hand. I am here now. He looked very solemn. In the distance she could see the blue sea. An intense blue. She withdrew her hand from his. She twisted her handkerchief into a tight knot. He seized the Scotch set before him and drained it. It was very late when she came back. The whole household was asleep. He walked her home to her door. They huddled under the umbrella. It rained heavily. Goodbye, she said as they reached the door. Goodbye, he said in a hollow voice. For a moment their fingers touched. She snuggled her head into his shoulder. He gently touched his lips to her cheek. She lowered her head to touch his fingers with her lips. He kissed her on the lips. She had felt the thrill of a sexual attraction. She had believed she could control these feelings, but in reality that was not so easy. She returned his kiss. She was transported with pleasure. His touch was warm and sensual. If you had stayed, this would never have happened. He did not know how he ought to behave. Did you miss me? And how! They spoke in soft whispers. If only they could hold on a little longer. They must control the impulses that lead them to transgress. If you should change your mind, I'll be at the hotel. She stared after him. *** In truth, she was more than a little unhappy. She was on the point of leaving. Passion was an element that had been missing from her life for too long. Running away was not in keeping with her character. There was no point in denying the truth. This point

in her life the last thing she needed was a husband. Relations have to be built on trust. Fidelity is something most of us hold dear. It had happened three times now. She thought that nothing would be the same again. There's only one thing to do after an experience like that. She wanted to end the relationship. She tried to put her shattered thoughts into some semblance of order. Past and present blurred together, confusing her still further. Should people pursue their own happiness at the expense of others? She forced herself to think of how he must be feeling. It was no use trying to put herself in his place. She sipped a double brandy. She took a long, hot bath. She relaxed, floating gently in the water. A deep feeling of sadness washed over her. She was possessed by a need to talk to him. She wanted him with every fiber of her being. She needed him so much that it seemed as if her entire heart and soul were crying out to him. She had been aroused by the telephone. Hello, said a voice at the other end. A cheerful voice. Hello, my sweet, she answered with a faint air of boredom. When can I see you, my bride-to-be? He asked if he could take her out. They arranged to meet up that afternoon. He arrived looking relaxed and cheerful. They decided to go and check out a local restaurant. They stopped at a small trattoria. An intimate little Italian restaurant. A restaurant cater-cornered from the movie theater. The table had been covered with a checked tablecloth. He crooked his finger and called over the waiter. The waiter handed her a menu. What do you say to a glass of wine? The waiter poured some wine for him to taste. The wine had a fruity taste. A wine with a zingy, peachy palate. The full flavor of a Bordeaux. Are you ready to order, sir? Pasta was served as a main dish. A plate of spaghetti. Ill have the salad plate. Their meal arrived. Would you pour the wine, please? She took a little wine. Here's to us! He was slurring his words like a drunk. Maria was put out by the slur. He was eating as if every mouthful were his last. Must you gobble your food so? He laced his fingers together and sat back. She twirled her fork in the pasta. He cut his food up into teeny pieces. She picked at her food, her heart too full to eat. She lingered over her meal. I'm full. My treat, he insisted, reaching for the bill. After dinner, she kissed him goodbye, as usual. Her self-control finally broke. She called the hotel from a phone booth. She asked him round for a drink. They arranged to meet at eleven o'clock. ***

How are you this morning? Me? Oh, I'm fine. I don't feel very well. The alcohol had a really bad effect on me. You should go back to bed. If you still feel bad, stay in bed. She thought it wise to let him sleep off his hangover. She drew him a hot bath. I really must go, I dont want to cause you any trouble. She held her hands together as if she was praying. Our troubles are just beginning. The afternoon light began to fade. By this time it was past 3:30. The door opened and a man came out. There's only room for a single bed in there. He glanced up once but looked right through me. Hello there! He looked much older than when I'd last seen him. The line of his lips was prolonged in a short red scar. I first saw him in Paris, where I lived in the early sixties. We were fresh out of art school. He is but a shadow of his former self. He had put on weight and grayed somewhat. A poignant reminder of the passing of time. The most selfish, egotistical individual I have ever met. All I can say for him is that he's a better writer than some. He knows his stuff and can really write. He was highly regarded. What possessed you to come here? You've lost your chance! You and I see things differently. Beneath that assured exterior, she's vulnerable. I got the impression that she wasn't happy. You two were just made for each other. This is none of your business. You're the one who ruined her life. You should be ashamed of yourself. How dare you talk to me like that! You've got more mouth on you than anyone. I've ever known. He wants to marry her. He slammed out of the room.

III The wedding finally arrived. She looked down, terrified that he would read fear on her face. The ceremony was about to begin. She tried to compose herself. I haven't been totally honest with you. She was close to tears. We have nothing in common, she told him. She wasn't telling the whole truth. Why didn't you tell me before? Tears were running down her face. He didn't believe her or didn't want to know. She bit her lip to stop the rush of bitter words. Tell them the wedding's off. He felt a vague disappointment which he couldn't put into words. It came as a great shock. He found it a shattering experience. He paused to collect himself. He searched his memory frantically for an answer. Her words finally penetrated. I was stupid enough to think she was perfect. I should never have trusted her. It was represented to him that she would be an unsuitable wife. The atmosphere of neglect and abandonment was almost tangible. What more could you expect from a relationship built upon sand? You are free to leave. She walked away without looking back. I'll be perfectly OK on my own. Famous last words, she thought to herself. *** She stood in the hall and shook her umbrella. She was holding a brown leather suitcase. The old brown suitcase had survived two ocean voyages and more train and bus trips than she could ever calculate. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders. Her Scottish origin. She was dressed in blue. A blue suit that echoed the color of her eyes. Her mouth was a bright cherry red. She had the fresh complexion of a true Celt. She gave him a radiant smile. He had a towel around his middle. He was captivated by her beauty. You are beautiful with your face washed with rain. Her perfume filled the room. A unique scent, impossible to duplicate or forget. Mark pulled her into his arms and held her close. She twined her arms around him. His breath fanned her skin as he leaned toward her. You've come back to me at last! He touched her head and felt her hair. Her hair felt very soft. A spray of jasmine was twined in her hair. The bad old days are gone. You and me, we belong together. He held back, remembering the mistake he had made before. She tried to think about the future without feeling afraid. I don't know what the future holds. Her voice shook with passion. I'll try to make it up to you in the future. Do that once more, and I'll skin you alive. She made him promise that he wouldn't do it again.

I hope we're doing the right thing. She pushed the anxious uncertainties out of her mind. Those days are gone for good. His lips parted in a smile. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. This time they're confident of a happy ending. She began to unpack her bags. She unbuttoned her dress from the back. She was tired out now that the strain was over. What with one thing and another she hadn't had much sleep recently. She undressed and climbed into bed. She pulled the covers over her head. She curled up and went to sleep. He could only gaze at her in astonishment. Good night, my darling. Tomorrow we set sail for France. He drifted into sleep on a tide of euphoria. Dawn was just breaking. She woke from a nightmare, palpitating with terror. Her face burned. She dreamed about her own funeral. A wave of panic. Dreams can foretell the future. In times of stress her dreams seemed to her especially significant. Are you all right? You were screaming. I dreamed that I was going to be executed. Oh my! He reached out a hand and touched her hair. My poor baby, you must be tired. She shut her eyes in anguish. She turned over and went back to sleep. The sun had just risen. Light squeezed through a small split in the curtain. The rain had stopped and the clouds had cleared. The sun dried the ground. Everything was so quiet and peaceful in the early morning. Sparrows twittered under the eaves. The sun shone through the window. The sunlight was dazzling. The shower had invigorated her. How are you this morning? Me? Oh, I'm fine. Would you care for some tea? I'd give anything for a cup of tea. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. She had not realized how hungry she was. I take it that you are hungry. He brought a tray. A tray decorated in black and green. The kettle boiled and he filled the teapot. The fresh note of bergamot. Breakfast in bedyou're spoiling me! I feel like celebrating. We have reason to celebrate. He passed her a cup. She poured out a cup of tea. He was being so kind and tender. It's a nice day. She breakfasted on French toast and bacon. Bacon and eggs washed down with a cup of tea. Freshly squeezed orange juice. He seemed really pleased that she was there. He spread the toast with butter. He was chewing a mouthful of toast. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed. She moved the tray to a side table. She turned her head and looked full into his face. They kissed. Tomorrow is going to be a special day. The day of departure.

We'll be checking out in the morning. I need to practice my French. Did you check the expiration date on your passport? Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got it all worked out. For six months I have been hammering away at a plot. Everything will be taken care ofyou have my word. She said something he'd never thought to have heard said again. I love you. A few seconds later the phone rang. He had a premonition of imminent disaster. It is impossible to foresee how life will work out. *** Mark felt a rush of anger. He didn't feel the loss of his mother so keenly. He felt sorrow at her death. They've arranged the funeral for Saturday. At the funeral he stood feeling drained and empty. The cemetery nestled beneath the cliffs, within sound of the sea. A funeral with only the immediate family in attendance. Dressed all in black. He had broken with his family long before. His mother was of French stock. He was the seventh of eight children. He has detached himself from his family. He was told constantly that he was ignorant and stupid. His mother cut him out of her will. The coffin was lowered into the grave. They sorrowed over her grave. He saw the coffin sink below the surface of the waves. May she rest in peace. *** Peter swore under his breath. Where is she? he demanded. Maria made me swear I would never tell anyone. You don't understandshe has left me. She made a fool of me. She had destroyed his dreams. He felt a tide of resentment rising in him. The damage to his reputation was considerable. He got the impression that she was hiding something. She could have had some boyfriend she kept quiet about. He was sickened by the thought of others having been intimate with her, touching her in the most intimate places. It was a crisis for which he was totally unprepared. The thought drove him to despair. The scene was as sharp and clear in his mind as a film. Humans do not reason entirely from facts. He searched the house thoroughly. He looked through her belongings in the hope of coming across some information. He worked the blade into the padlock. An envelope marked private and confidential. An addressed envelope. He read a passage of the letter. Rage colored his pale complexion. He produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. He noted down her address on a piece of paper. He fingered the photograph gently, careful not to mark it. Peter read the letter twice before its meaning sank in. It would have taken a paragon of virtue not to feel viciously jealous. The reality dawned on him. He was beginning to despair of ever knowing. He just felt used. The camera cannot lie. It was not his way to wait passively for things to happen. He found out the truth. The defeat was a bruise to his ego. He was not a man who found it easy to forgive and forget. The savagery of his thoughts frightened him. He freaked out and started smashing the place up. ***

The following Tuesday, I clued her in about Peter. He's gone crazy. I tried to calm him down. You really wounded his pride when you turned him down. It was no use trying to persuade her. She shakes her head while you talk, as if to say you don't know from nothing. I am telling you, he has gone absolutely mad. Still, he's harmless. He's never harmed anybody in his life. He was arrested yesterdayI read it in the paper. He'd got into a fight outside a club. She gave a cynical laugh. The effects of too much drinking. The man ended by attacking a police officer. It's his male jealousy, which is nearly always unfounded. He had no reason to suspect my honesty. To be perfectly frank, I don't know. I don't know what you mean. You haven't been unfaithful to him, have you? Oh, shut up. I can do without your complaints first thing in the morning. She drank her coffee. Just shut up and listen, you can't keep it quiet for long! It's my decisionit has nothing to do with you. Don't go poking your nose where you shouldn't. Remember what happened last time. He is emotional and unpredictable. Don't lecture me! I know what I'm doing. *** He had been up for hours. He had slept little these past weeks. His throat was dry and sore. By four o'clock he still hadn't had a single bite. It occurred to him that he hadn't eaten. He got in his car and drove off. He was in no shape to drive. The inside of the car was like an oven. He has been determined to destroy her. Little did he know what wheels he was putting into motion. He saw her running across the road. His eyes scanned her slender form. He was following behind in his car. His eyes followed her every move. He was drenched with sweat. He stared at her in amazement. He made an effort to control himself. His state of near despair; despair verging on the suicidal. He had the strong impression that someone was watching him. His attention had wandered. He glimpsed a figure standing in the shade. *** The light was already fading, but she pushed on. She stood alone in the middle of the street. The night was silent. She had no idea where she was going. She felt as if she were disconnected from the real world. That street at that time was no place for a lady. She was so tired that she couldn't think. Her energy was on the verge of giving out. She was in deep trouble. Behind her she could hear men's voices. It was too dark to distinguish anything more than their vague shapes. A minivan was parked at the side of the road. The license plate had been blacked out with masking tape. A car flashed by on the other side of the road. She had the eerie sensation that she was

being watched. For an instant the moon disappeared. The van jerked forward. A stranger slowly approached from the shadows. She hadn't heard him approach. She felt someone touch her shoulder. A tremor of fear ran through her. A tall dark man with a scar on one cheek. She took a deep breath. If she had tried to utter a word, she would have broken down. *** He tried to persuade her to come with him. You've no intention of coming back? I'm quite sorry, but no, I have not. She followed his gaze, peering into the gloom. His eyes were red. He turned, following her gaze. His impassive, fierce stare reminded her of an owl. Tell me the truth. She suspected that he might be bluffing. Look, this is ridiculous. Please answer my question! I'm afraid I don't understand. She began to walk away from him. He caught hold of her arm. Maria saw his lip curl sardonically. The smile revealed the evil beneath. And the picture? he prompted. Her face grew serious. He wouldn't show the picture. She jerked her arm free. Stop it, you're scaring me! He got all worked up and started shouting and swearing. He uttered a stream of oaths. He caught hold of her arm as she tried to push past him. His hands caught at her arms as she tried to turn away. What do you think you're doing? Keep your hands off me. You and I are through. His mouth was spitting vile oaths and curses. Ow! You're hurting me! Before she could struggle, he lifted her up. She shrieked with fear. He was boiling with rage. Tears were streaming down her face. She shouted at the top of her voice. He slapped her hard. The blow left a red mark down one side of her face. I for one am getting a little sick of writing about it. It makes me cringe when I think of it. The blow caught her on the side of her face. She fell down. She collapsed on the ground. She was unconscious of the pain. The blood gushed out in scarlet streams. *** The light began to fail. Mark felt sick with fear. His watch marked five past eight. There was still no sign of her. Where can she have gone? She had packed and checked out of the hotel. She was nowhere to be seen. It was thoughtless of her to have rushed out and not said where she would be going. There must be something wrong. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. A sure sign that he's worried. He surmised that something must be wrong. Through the open windows came the strains of a hurdygurdy playing in the street. The song had a curious ring of nostalgia to it. His eyes filled. He felt lonely and depressed. He had a strong presage that he had only a very short time to live. He knew that his end might come at any time. It's gone half past eleven. Hopes of her safe return faded. The porter was the last person to see her.

At 4:30 am Mark woke up. He forgot where he was. The reality dawned on him. He felt a surge of anxiety. He heaved himself out of bed. Mark stapled a batch of papers together. He emptied out the contents of his briefcase. He stuffed a thick wad of notes into his jacket pocket. If the place were on fire, Mark would still take his time. He jabbed a cigarette end into the ashtray. He picked up the phone and hit several buttons. He sought help from the police. He found his way to the front door. He received a hit from behind. He struggled to his feet and made toward the car. His case burst open and its contents flew all over the place. He was unconscious but still alive when they found him. He lost a great deal of blood. They found him senseless on the floor. His skin was sallow and his pulse impalpable. He was left to die. Photographers crowded around him. The newspaper obtained a copy of the letter. *** Maria felt her distress ebbing away. She had trouble keeping her balance. I only got away by the skin of my teeth. She was alive, which was something to be glad about. She sighed with relief. The place had been totally trashed. Her footsteps were muted by the thick carpet. She fastened her locket around her neck. She raked her hair back with her fingers. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were dull with dark shadows beneath them. Her clothing was stained with blood. Her dress was split. Her arms and legs throbbed with tiredness. Her face was badly bruised. She applied some ointment. I can take care of myself. The air hung with an antiseptic aroma peculiar to hospitals. She touched her locket for luck, a superstition she had had since childhood. She watched the waves undulating from her stateroom window. She pulled down the blinds. She glanced over her shoulder to check that the door was shut. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax. She had lost all track of time and had fallen asleep. The sky was turning red outside.

IV A week later I met him in the street. The leaves were motionless in the still night air. The first drops of rain splashed on the ground. He had an uneasy feeling. You look as though you need a rest. Let's go and have a beer. The bar was crowded and noisy. Let's go somewhere where we won't be disturbed. We can be private here. He took a mouthful of beer. He was accused of murdering his wife's lover. The remains of a headless body had been found. The press was notified. Identification was made through dental records. Such crimes are, by their very nature, difficult to hide. The police said the man was described as white, 6 ft. tall, with mousy, cropped hair. Police are searching for clues. I found the letter in her bag. And did you steam it open? He downed his beer. I am not worriedthey've got nothing on me, he whispered in a broken voice. It's too late now anyway. The police will prefer charges. He told me my telephones were tapped and I was being watched. Your movements and telephone conversations are recorded. I don't believe you. He twisted and pointed his mustache. Everyone will soon know the truth. He went silent and withdrew into himself. I couldn't help feeling that she was using me. She had me under her power. I didn't answer him. I think she's playing a trick on us. She is seeking revenge. Listen, I've got an idea. I cut his photograph out of the paper. You two are very similar. You could pass yourself off as his double. A ludicrous suggestion that he might escape unnoticed. What are you hinting at? In theory, your idea sounds great, but can it be practically applied? You've got to be realistic, I'm just not sold on the idea. This is just plain stupid. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow night. Give me just one clue! I never plan the end of the novel I'm writing. *** Maria was restless throughout the meeting. She was put in a cubicle with the curtains left open. May I ask a few questions? There are many gaps in our understanding of what happened. I'd appreciate any information you could give me. Are you hurt? he repeated. She made out that he was violent. I guess I'd better tell you everything.

Please give your name, address, and date of birth. Write your name in the appropriate space. What is your name? She produced an ID card. She wasn't used to dealing with authority. Does he have any distinguishing features, such as a scar or a birthmark? No, she responded. Are you quite certain about this? Your story just doesn't hold water. That story does not agree with the facts. I got slightly balled up in my facts. The rapid questions were designed to scare her into blurting out the truth. She repeated her story. She appeared not to know what was happening. She jumped backward and forward in her narrative. There wasn't a scrap of evidence. The police have issued an artist's impression of the attacker. The police took her home. *** Detectives are trying to unravel the mystery. A murder investigation that has never been solved. Nobody could predict how it might end.