Jonathan Taylor - Meyer-Hofmann AG

Reichard picked up the phone and dialled Dr Ecker’s number.

Michael had not slept well. His head had been spinning by the time he got to bed. They had spent two hours at the police station, answering questions and signing depositions. That had been the easy part. Explaining himself to the police had been simple, in comparison to Lisa’s interrogation.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” she demanded.

He had no answer for her.

“I don’t know, everything happened so fast. I just got lucky, I guess.”

“Bullshit! You took them out. It was like watching a Bruce Willis film.” She frowned at him. “Why are you lying to me? We said we would never lie to one another. Didn’t we?”

Her eyes were welling up, the first tear hurdling her left eyelid.

“I am not lying, Lisa; please believe me,” Michael implored.

“And what about the hospital? You were out of it, Michael. We couldn’t even talk to you.”

He couldn’t explain it, but something in his gut had warned him not to visit the hospital. He had felt as if he had been possessed, unable to control his own thoughts and movements, as if he had become a spectator. How could he explain that? He needed some time, time to get a grip, time to understand.

“I don’t know why. I was scared. I just reacted.”

“Scared? Scared of what?” she demanded.

“Scared of what they might find. Lisa, I don’t understand it either. I would never lie to you, you know that!”

He bowed his head and hoped her resistance had broken. Tears were in full flow, and she had knelt beside him, taking him in her arms.

“We have to see someone. It might be serious. If you are no better tomorrow, you must promise me you will go to the hospital.”

He had nodded his head, and she had accepted his promise. Thirty minutes later they were back at the flat.

Lying on the bed, Michael stared at the ceiling. The early morning sun was rising over the city, lighting the bedroom through the lace curtains. He debated whether a visit to the hospital may not be his best course of action. He would do that, but first, he had to get some sleep.

No sooner had he closed his eyes, he heard the sound of a girl crying. He tried to reconstruct the apartment building in his mind, but was too tired to open his eyes and get a better idea of which flat she might be in. He had had little or no contact with the neighbours, so it would not help. Instead, he pulled the pillow over his head and squeezed tight, to block out the sound. It seemed this was not going to help, as her sobs were getting louder, and for some unknown reason, closer. He tried to remember if the bedroom wall possibly connected them to the flat next door, but it was a waste of time—he couldn’t remember. The girl was now inconsolable, and he had to fight the compulsion to get up and see if she was all right.

It is none of my business, he decided. I will pop round there and make sure she is all right in the morning.

She was now talking to someone, and Michael was starting to get very concerned for her.

“Please, not again, please! I can’t do it any more. Leave me alone!”

That was too much for Michael to ignore, and he staggered from his bed. Lisa seemed to be sleeping through it, despite the noise and the sunlight creeping in around the closed curtains.

She must be exhausted, he thought.

Looking around the room for the door, he struggled to find his bearings. The sound of the girl’s voice was not helping either, as it seemed to be circling him. Stumbling over some unseen piece of clothing, he made for the nearest wall, only to be disappointed as the sound of her voice grew fainter, and the door did not materialise. The next wall was no better. He could hardly hear here at all for a moment, and he began thinking the fight was over, and they had made their peace.

“YOU BASTARD!” It was as if she had screamed it into his ear this time, and he whipped around, almost expecting her to be standing right next to him. But there was nothing, just the dark bedroom and a few grey outlines of the bedroom’s furniture. Moving to the next wall, he was determined to help the girl. Running his hands frantically over the rough wall’s surface, expecting the door to appear at any moment, he was met by just more paintwork. Moving from one wall to the next, he was unable to find the bedroom door. Frantically, he circled the room, unable to find the exit, before finally collapsing on the bed, defeated. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his pyjamas were soaked. The girl’s sobs filled the room.

Open the bloody curtains, you idiot! he shouted at himself.

But he lacked the energy; his limbs felt like lead, and he could hardly keep his eyes open.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t find you, I’m sorry!

When Lisa woke at 8:00 am, she immediately started fussing. Michael was crashed out next to her, and she thought it better to let him sleep. God knows he would need it after the night before. They had no solid plans for the day, so she had decided they should both take it easy. She left the room and headed for the kitchen. There were croissants in the freezer and jams in the cupboard.

She would start without him, she decided, but it wasn’t long before he joined her in the kitchen.

“How did you sleep through that?” His hair was dishevelled, and he was trying to move it back into a more acceptable state with the palm of his hand.

“What?”

“The girl, she was crying and screaming. I hope she’s all right!”

“What girl? I didn’t hear a girl,” she said, aghast.

“You are incredible. How could you not hear her?” He smiled and shook his head at her.

“Really, I didn’t hear a thing. Do you think we should ask the neighbours if everything is all right?”

“Yes, I do. I’ll get dressed and go round.”

“Do you have to do it right away? I thought we could have a bath?” She moved over to him and planted a big kiss on his lips.

“I really think I should, darling. You should have heard her.”

“Come on, Michael, you did enough of the hero stuff last night. I’m sure she is fine. Come and have a bath with me.” She grasped the lapel of his pyjama top and gently pulled him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Lisa, I have to go. She may be hurt!”

“It’s none of our business. Let it be!”

“I can’t. I’m worried about her!”

“Okay, if you think you have to. But make it quick—I will be in the bathroom.”

Michael headed back to the bedroom whilst Lisa made for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later he was back at the bathroom door, looking confused.

“And what did you find, Sherlock?”

“They don’t have a daughter. Both neighbours are young couples.”

“Maybe it was one of the women?”

“No, I asked. I don’t understand it?”

“Maybe it was just a dream?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe it was?”

“Come on, get in here with me. I will take your mind off it.”

Michael slowly undressed and gingerly stepped into the hot water. Lisa made room for him to sit down next to her. Two minutes later, he was sound asleep again.

Lisa was debating whether to wake him, when the doorbell sent her scrambling for her dressing gown. Not expecting anyone, she wondered if it might be one of the neighbours with an explanation for Michael. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find Von Klitzing outside.

“Herr Von Klitzing, what a surprise!”

Lisa shifted uncomfortably, pulling the thick dressing gown together over her chest.

“Hello, Mrs Jarvis, I am sorry to bother you both on a Sunday, but I need to talk to your husband.”