S. Watson - Second Life

But where’s Connor?

I feel the world collapsing, begin to disintegrate. I breathe deeply and tell myself I have to stay calm. I sit on the bed, the gun beside me. Anna’s phone shows my missed call, but there’s another message, a text that has been sent to the phone from a number I don’t recognize. ‘Julia,’ it says. ‘If you want to find Connor, return this call.’

I hesitate, but only for a moment. I have no choice. I swipe the screen and the phone connects.

It’s a video call. After a moment, it’s answered; the outline of a face appears. It’s Lukas, he’s sitting in darkness, in front of a window. His body is blocking what little light comes in from the street outside, throwing him into silhouette. For a second I’m reminded of those true-crime TV shows, the victim unrecognizable, her voice disguised, but then my mind goes to the times we’ve chatted on video before.

‘You found the phone.’

I take a deep breath, try to muster as much courage as I can. I put my hand on the gun beside me; it gives me some kind of strength. ‘What d’you want?’ My voice still cracks. I’m aware of how impotent the question sounds.

He leans forward. His face is illuminated by the glow from his screen. He’s smiling.

He’s unchanged, yet I don’t recognize him at all. The Lukas I knew has gone completely.

‘Where’s Connor?’

‘I have no idea.’

His words are loaded with threat.

‘Let me see him.’

He ignores me. ‘Like I said, I’ve decided I want Connor’s share of your sister’s money.’

I know he’s lying. His words are flat, and unconvincing. Even if I didn’t know the truth, I’d be able to tell.

‘This isn’t about money. I know who you are.’

‘Really?’

I close my eyes. Hatred pours into me; my mind will not be still. How long has this man been talking to my son? His father, pretending to be his girlfriend.

For a moment I feel huge, unstoppable, as if my hatred is limitless and I could transcend the hardware that links us, the fibre optics, the satellites, and destroy him simply by willing it.

Yet I know I can’t. I force myself to refocus on the screen. Lukas is still talking, but I can’t hear him.

‘Let him go,’ I say. ‘Let them both go. What have they ever done to you?’

He doesn’t answer. He ignores me. He holds up the memory stick. ‘I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave me and Anna alone…’

An image swims into view. Me and him, in a hotel room, fucking. I have one hand on the headboard; he’s behind me. I feel sick.

‘Don’t do this. Please. Let me see Connor.’

He laughs. ‘Too late. I told you I’d tell your family the truth.’

He stands up, holding his camera phone in front of him so that his face remains static. It looks as though it’s the background that’s wheeling violently, a ship upturned. A bare light bulb spins into view – dead, I guess, or not switched on – and then a glass-panelled doorway, beyond which must be another room, and next to it a cooker.

‘Julia…’ he says. The image spins again, then freezes; he’s standing still, as if deep in thought. Over his shoulder I can see a window, through it the street. ‘I want Connor’s share of your sister’s money. It seems only fair, as I won’t be getting Anna’s any more.’

I can’t understand why he’s doing this. ‘I know this isn’t about the fucking money!’ I’m shouting, my anger coursing through me, a boiling intensity. ‘I know who you are, you creep!’

He ignores me. ‘Don’t forget those pictures. Tell you what. Why don’t you stay there tonight? Make yourself at home, I’m sure Anna won’t mind. Then tomorrow, first thing, I’ll come round. You can give me the money, and then you can have this.’ He holds up the memory stick once again. ‘Or else I can give it to your family. It’s up to you.’

I’m silent. I have nothing to say, nowhere to turn.

‘Right. Until tomorrow, then.’ He laughs. I’m about to answer when he says, ‘And if you like we can have one last fuck, just for old time’s sake.’

And then he’s gone.

I stand up. My rage is volcanic, yet impotent. I want to lash out, to smash and destroy, but there’s nothing I can do. I look down at the gun and pick it up. It feels heavy in my hand.

I don’t have time to think. The police haven’t turned up yet, but they might be here soon. A wasted journey for them, but I’ve effectively broken in. I’m holding a gun, they’ll ask questions. I have to get out. I pick up the pistol and rummage through the chest of drawers over by the window. I pull out a lemon sweater and wrap the gun in it, then put it in my bag. I close the door behind me as I leave, then slam down the stairs.

Lukas has made a mistake. When he turned his phone round in the kitchen I’d caught a glimpse through the window to the right of his shoulder, on to the street outside. It hadn’t been for long, but it’d been enough. Through the window I’d seen a street, a row of shops, a neon sign reading ‘CLUB SANTÉ!’ with a jaunty exclamation mark and a logo of a runner formed out of a curve and a dot. Above it was one word. ‘Berger’.

When I’m out of sight of the apartment I search on my phone, typing the words into the browser, praying that there’ll only be one branch. My heart sinks as two appear – one in the nineteenth, the other the seventeenth – but both have maps attached and one looks to be on a busy road while the other is opposite a park.

It must be the nineteenth, which I guess is a couple of miles away.

I have to go there. I have to get Connor back, and maybe I can force Lukas to give me the memory stick, scare him into letting Anna go and leaving us all alone.

I hail a cab. I give the address, then get in. ‘How long?’ I say to the driver, in English. It takes a moment before I realize my mistake and say it again: ‘ Combien de temps pour y arriver? ’

He looks at me in the rear-view mirror. He’s indifferent, largely. He shrugs, says, ‘ Nous ne sommes pas loin .’ A plastic tree hangs off the mirror, and on the dashboard there’s a photo: a woman, a child. His family, I guess, mirroring mine. I look away, out of the window, at the streets as they slide by. Rain has begun to fall; it’s heavy, people have put up their umbrellas or are dashing with newspapers held over their heads. I rest my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. I want to stay like this for ever. Silent, warm.

But I can’t. I take out my phone and call my husband.

‘Hugh, where are you?’

‘We’re just getting into Gare du Nord.’

‘Did you call the police?’

He’s silent.

‘Hugh?’

‘Yes. I called them. They’re on their way.’

‘You need to call them back. Please. I went to Anna’s. She isn’t there. The place is deserted. She and Connor… I think something terrible has happened.’

‘Terrible?’

‘Just meet me here,’ I say. I give him the address. ‘As soon as you can.’

‘Why? Julia? What’s there?’

I close my eyes. This is it. I have to tell him. ‘Hugh, listen. It’s where Connor’s gone. This Evie, she doesn’t exist.’

‘But I spoke to her.’

‘It’s just a name he’s used to lure him here.’

‘Who? You’re not making any sense, Julia.’

‘Hugh, listen to me. Connor’s found his father. His real father. He’s here to meet him, but he’s in danger.’

There’s a silence. I can’t begin to imagine what my husband must be feeling. In a moment he’ll ask me how I know, what’s happened, and it will all come spilling out. I take a deep breath. I’m ready.

‘Connor’s father… I know him. He didn’t tell me who he was, but—’