Forgotten (14 page)

“
What I’m
trying to say is,” he continued, “we could uncover some pretty
unpleasant things. So you need to be prepared for it, to deal with
it.
No running, no
hiding
.”

The
unmistakable emphasis on Saul’s latter words left me wondering just
how much he knew about me. Yes, it was true I had a history of
retreating into my own world when things got too much. But how did
he know this? And what unpleasant things? More than what had
already happened?

My insides felt like collapsing and my head
brimmed with a new brand of fear.

Saul inched closer along the sofa. “Claudia,
look at me.”

I did. Those ridiculously, hypnotic eyes
riveted me into place.

“
Sorry if
that sounded a little direct, but I really want you to deal with
this because I need your full concentration. I
don’t
do this alone. It’s not how
I operate. I don’t go away, find the answers and bring them back to
you. We do this
together
.” His voice was
steadfast but assuring. “You and me, right to the end.
Okay?”

I was unconvinced how someone as emotionally
rickety as me could assist someone as noticeably resourceful as
Saul. I told him this.

“You underestimate your abilities. Trust
me.”

I meekly nodded, still uncertain. “You said
a couple of things,” I reminded him.

“
I did. The
other thing, well… I don’t know what you know about me.”

Very little
, but
enough to entrust you with my life.

“
I’m not the
police, Claudia. I don’t live by their rules. In other words, I
don’t do
things in what you would term
conventional. Some things may be a slight blurring of the lines. It
doesn’t bother me but I just want you to be aware of it; it may
bother you. However, it does help get results.”

Results were
what I needed. I would worry about the methods
, if that ever arose, later. Once again, I indicated
agreement. “Is that it? Do I now sign on some dotted line or
something?”

He chuckled. “Yes, that’s it and no… no
dotted line necessary.” Saul stood to re-fill his mug and I
welcomed the same.

Once again,
I
marveled in the way he moved, so
sinuous, so relaxed. I hastily looked away as he turned, handing me
the refreshed mug. “What do you want me to do now?” I asked with
more assertion.

He settled
again upon the sofa. “I want you to tell me everything, every
detail, every thought, no matter how trivial it may sound.
Okay?”

I was hesitant at first, but once I began, I
couldn’t stop. It was as if every word I spoke brought a fresh
sense of exoneration. And the most ridiculous thing of all? I felt
so strangely at ease with him. I had just met the man and yet I
felt I had known him for much longer.

I spoke of
the mysterious cards I received every year. I spoke of Alice
Polinski’s murder, her surprising knowledge of me and the card she
gave me that night. I spoke of my Nonno and his worrying
revelations. I spoke of my brother Milo and his vague statements.
And finally, I spoke of my parents’ odd reactions.

All the while Saul sat silently, listening,
never once interrupting.

“Are you always like this?” I asked.

A crooked raise of his eyebrow. “What’s
that?”

“The way you listen with such… I don’t know…
such self-control.”

“Does it make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that most men
couldn’t help but butt in.”

He shrugged. “Possibly, but I get the
impression you’re really avoiding what you’re about to say
next.”

His observation threw me; more so because he
was correct. “I knew Alice Polinski.”

He didn’t appear surprised. “And?”

“
And, well…
it’s from where I know her…
knew
her that is completely
strange. You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I doubt that. So, where did you know her
from?”

I twirled the mug in my hands and took a
deep breath. “The dreams. She’s the woman in the dreams.” I closed
my eyes. I didn’t want to witness Saul’s face in case the
expression there wasn’t altogether complimentary. “I’ve had them
since childhood.”

I felt the soft touch of his hand. It was as
warm as his voice. “Claudia, tell me about these dreams.”

And I did.
And as before, he paid attention to every word. “I had one today…
here.”

“And you believe the woman on the staircase
is Alice Polinski?”

“Yes. She’s much younger of course but it’s
her eyes, her manner. It’s definitely her. It just doesn’t make any
sense.”

Saul drifted into silence. He then stood and
moved towards his desk. There, he jimmied the mouse of his laptop.
“On the contrary,” he said, concentrating on the wide screen. “It’d
probably make a whole heap of sense if you look at it from a
different angle.”

I swung my body to face him fully. “What do
you mean?”

“Haven’t you ever considered it unusual that
your dreams contain so many similarities?”

“Of course, I have. But I was never entirely
sure what it meant.”

“And your parents? Weren’t they concerned?”
He had turned and was staring directly at me.

“My father encouraged me to forget about
them, that they would probably disappear in due course.”

Saul seemed amazed. “But they didn’t.”

“No. Not completely. They lessened a bit,
particularly when I left Nankari, but since Alice Polinski, they’ve
become intense again.”

Saul leaned
against his desk and crossed his arms. “Were these the same dreams
that were associated with your PTSD?”

Shit! I felt
as if someone had just socked me in the ribs. After Simon, I had
been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which lasted
several, horrible and very painful months. I inhaled sharply. “How
did you know?”

“Not important right now. So were they?”

Unable to find my voice, I nodded.

“
But your
PTSD doesn’t explain why you’ve had them since
childhood.”

“
I know. I
tried to tell the psychiatrist that, Dr. Cruikshank was his name,
but he ignored it.”

“Not very professional.”

I rolled my
eyes. I had thought the same. “I think because they’d strengthened
to such a degree at the time, he included them as one of the
symptoms; I’m not sure.” I paused, recalling that in the end I
didn’t even care. “What do you think the dreams mean?”

“Could possibly be your mind’s way of
recalling something.”

“
A memory?”
I had already begun toying with the idea. Recognizing Alice
Polinski, in addition to my family’s reaction to her, appeared too
coincidental. “If it is a memory, then why keep it a secret from
me? And why don’t I remember it properly?”

“Not sure, Claudia, but I’m guessing the
obvious.”

“Which is what?”

“
That
something happened to you as a child, something unpleasant enough
for you to forget, and if I’m right, I presume your family don’t
want you remembering either.”

I took time to absorb this, until a ghastly
thought hit me. “But that would mean,” I barely whispered, “that
whoever shot Alice Polinski….”

December 26, 2010

2:25 pm

MY CHEST CONCAVED.

Was the poor woman dead because of something
I knew? Something that my own family didn’t want me remembering?
Worse still, could they have had anything to do with Alice’s death?
I searched for other explanations, but they seemed as tenuous as my
sanity.

“
It’s just a
theory,” Saul said, with a definite look of concern. “But
understand, we aren’t dealing with a fairy tale
here.”

Weren’t fairy tales synonymous with happy
endings? The idea that my own tale wouldn’t result in such a
conclusion, only rattled me further. Regardless, I drew in a huge
breath and told Saul I was fine.

He watched me for a few seconds then turned
to his laptop. “There’s something I want you to listen to. It might
give credibility to that memory theory.”

I hoisted myself up, hoped my jerkiness
wasn’t too noticeable and made my way to Saul. He offered me his
chair. I gladly obliged and sank into its firm but luxurious
seating. His desk was wide and like everything else, perfectly
ordered and just as opulent.

A small snow
globe, filled with white sprinkled fir trees, sparkly winged
fairies, and other tiny, mythical creatures caught my curiosity.
Boldly imprinted on
a bronze plate was
its title,
The Magic
Forest.
It was so quaint, so child-like,
so incongruous to the man near me.

And I wondered to whom it had once
belonged.

“Have you ever heard of a Charles Smith?”
Saul was half-seated against his desk. His towering height made me
feel uncharacteristically small.

“No, never. Am I supposed to?”

“I don’t know. What about a man called
Colt?”

I shook my head.

“A Senator Macey?”

“
The
Minister for Environment?” Him, I did know. “He’s a huge campaigner
for the anti-gun laws.”

“
D
o you know him?”

“Not personally, no.”

Something
troubling muddied his face. Saul bent down to grab the mouse. He
was so close to me now. I could hear his soft, rhythmical
breathing, smell the same pleasant, earthy cologne as his jacket.
“Ready for this?” he said.

I nodded, although I was doubtful that I
was.

What followed was a recorded conversation
between the Senator and a person called Colt. I listened, feeling a
little bewildered as to how it connected to my own situation, until
it reached a certain part.

“
Do you think Claudia Cabriati has
remembered?”

I
instantly stiffened. “This is crazy.”

Saul was
scrutinizing me again.

“Believe me,” I said, staring right back at
him, “I do not know these men.”

A second
more of scrutinizing and then, “I do believe you. But they
obviously know you.”

More
secrets. I began to feel irritated, felt it burn my already hot
cheeks. “And I guess this Charles Smith knows me too?” I couldn’t
help the added sarcasm.

It turned
out he did. And then Saul told a story about some crazy e-mails,
about Charles Smith, about a Thomas Bellante…
about me
. For a short
time, it left me drop-jawed speechless. I could’ve asked Saul how
he knew of the e-mails but I had other, more important questions.
“Wh… what did this Smith want done to me?” I tried not to
second-guess the options.

“
I was
hoping you could tell me.”

I had no idea and said as much. Saul rubbed
the back of his neck appearing disappointed.

“
When did
you say these e-mails were sent?”
I
asked.

“Just over a year ago, the same day Thomas
Bellante disappeared.”

Shit! I swallowed hard, gripped onto the
armrests and flopped back into the chair like some mindless,
raggedy doll. “You think the two incidents are related?”

Saul
shrugged a very non-committal shrug. “Hard to say for certain. But
the timing, you being the common factor is pretty
questionable.”

I pressed my
sorry body further into the seat, wished I had a musk stick or two
on hand.

“Tell me your thoughts,” Saul murmured.

My thoughts?
Attempting to
unravel that menagerie of madness was challenging; to extract one
intelligible concept was almost impossible. Frustration was
mounting, control was crashing and what Saul now thought seemed
inconsequential.

I turned to him. “You want my thoughts? Good
luck. Can you even understand the state of play between my ears
right now? It’s like feral rats breeding in there.” I said it with
a little more ferocity than necessary. However, I felt better for
my outburst.

Saul threw his head down and chuckled.

“You may laugh.”

He
apologized. It sounded sincere, but I still made out the amused
sparkles in his eyes. “Let’s just stay focused on one thing at a
time, okay?”

I happily agreed. “So, there’s something I
know but can’t remember.”

“
Any idea of
such a thing, something just a little off… unusual?”

Again, I
searched my memory, but it came up as blank as the now sleeping
laptop screen. “If the dreams are a memory, then the hallway, the
door, actually
do
exist somewhere.”

“That’s a strong possibility.”

It was too
farfetched to believe. Yet, in some peculiar way, it made sense.
“That would mean Alice was a part of this place and most likely so
was I.”

“Again, a strong possibility.”

“And again, something I don’t remember.”

From his
high-perched stance, Saul watched me with a growing frown. “Tell me
about being watched, of being followed?”

I spun him a sharp, dumbfounded look. Who
the shit was this man?

“I gather from your reaction that I’ve hit a
nerve?”

He gathered
correctly. I just gathered myself.

I explained
my earlier years, the odd sensation of figures watching me,
settling down once I left Nankari, only to return when I did, over
a year ago. I explained the psychiatrist’s assessment.
Just another symptom of your
Post-Traumatic Stress,
he had said. But I
knew it was shit, as was the whole dream debacle. I had told the
psychiatrist as much. But, again, he refused to listen.