Лиана Мориарти - Nine Perfect Strangers

“I’m hopeless at birthdays,” said Heather. In reality she was hopeless at friends, and after Zach died she could see no point to them at all. Friends were an indulgence.

Frances winced. “I did totally forget a good friend’s birthday this year, but that was because I was caught up in this internet scam and I was so distracted that day, and then it got to midnight, and I thought, Oh my God, Monica ! but it was too late to text, so—”

“What about your family?” Heather interrupted, before she heard this Monica’s life story. She found Frances to be quite flaky. “Do you have family?”

Heather looked over Frances’s shoulder at her own family. Zoe was sitting with Jessica, their heads bowed close, as if they were two friends sharing secrets. Napoleon and Ben walked as they talked, Ben listening intently and nodding respectfully like he was one of Napoleon’s best students. She didn’t know what was going on with Napoleon right now. It was like an imposter was doing an excellent job performing the role of Napoleon. He was saying and doing all the right things and nearly getting away with it, but there was something just not quite right.

“Yes,” said Frances. “I have family.” She looked uncertain. “I guess I’m not that close to my immediate family. My father died and my mother remarried and moved overseas. The South of France. I have a sister, but she has a lot on her plate. Their day-to-day lives wouldn’t be impacted that much if I was gone.”

“Of course their lives would be impacted,” said Heather.

“Well …” Frances gave the blank screen a nervous look. “I’m not saying they’d dance on my grave.”

Heather looked at her, surprised. The woman looked genuinely frightened. “You do know you’re not really on death row, don’t you? This is just a stupid power game for that maniac.”

“Shhh,” hissed Frances. “She could be listening.”

“I don’t care,” said Heather recklessly. “I’m not scared of her.”

“I kind of think you should be.” Frances shot another uneasy look at the screen.

“It’s fine, I’m going to play along,” said Heather, to comfort the poor woman. “I don’t think you should be executed.”

“Thanks so much,” said Frances.

“So what else should I say?”

“Appeal to her ego,” said Frances. “Start out by saying that it’s true that Frances’s life didn’t mean all that much until this point, but now she has done this retreat, she has been rehabilitated.”

“Rehabilitated,” said Heather.

“That’s right.” Frances was as jittery as a junkie. “Make sure you use the word ‘rehabilitated.’ I think she’ll like that. Make it clear that I’ve seen the error of my self-indulgent ways. I’m going to exercise. Eat clean. No more preservatives. I’m going to set goals .”

“ Good morning, my sweetie pies! ”

Masha’s voice boomed through the room as her image flickered to life once more on the screen.

Frances gasped and swore, clutching Heather’s arm.

“It is time!” cried Masha. She took a long deep drag of a cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of her mouth. “It is time to play Death Sentence. Wait. We’re not calling it that, are we? It is time to play Death Row. A much better name! Who thought of that name?”

“But it’s not time yet!” Napoleon looked at his watch.

Heather stared at the screen. Masha was smoking . She didn’t know why she was so surprised after everything else that had happened, but it was shocking and distressing, like seeing a nun lifting her habit to reveal suspenders.

“You’re smoking!” accused Jessica.

Masha laughed and took another deep drag. “I am smoking, Jessica. Occasionally, in times of stress, I smoke.”

“You’re high,” said Ben tiredly, sadly, and Heather could hear in his voice the years of resigned disappointment suffered by an addict’s relative. Ben was right. Masha’s eyes were glassy, and her posture was strange and stiff, as if her head wasn’t attached to her body and she was worried it would roll off.

Masha held up an empty smoothie glass. “I have taken steps to reach a higher level of consciousness.”

“Is Yao okay?” asked Heather. She tried to keep her tone respectful, even though her throat burned with hatred. “Could we please see Yao?”

The screen of the camera seemed to be angled differently from the previous time. Masha stood in front of a window in what looked like her office, although it was dark outside, so it was impossible to tell for sure.

“He is not your concern right now,” said Masha. “It is time for you to present your cases for your clients. Will they live? Will they die? This is such a stimulating and thought-provoking exercise, I think.”

“It’s only three A.M., Masha!” Napoleon tapped the face of his watch. “It’s not dawn. You said we’d do this at dawn.”

Masha lunged at the screen and pointed her cigarette at him. “Guests should not wear watches during retreats!”

Napoleon reeled back. He held up his wrist. “I’ve been wearing it the whole time. Nobody said I couldn’t wear a watch.”

“The watch should have been handed in with the other devices! Who was your wellness consultant?”

“It’s my fault, Masha. I take responsibility for this.” He unbuckled his watch.

“It was Yao, wasn’t it?” screamed Masha. She looked demonic. Her scream reverberated through the room. Flecks of her saliva dotted the screen.

“Jesus Christ,” said Tony quietly.

Zoe came to stand next to Heather and took her hand, something she hadn’t done since she was a very little girl. It felt like no one breathed.

Heather squeezed Zoe’s hand and, for the first time since they’d been trapped down here, she experienced true dread.

She thought of those times throughout her working life when the atmosphere in a labor ward went from focused to hyper-focused, because a mother’s or a baby’s life hung in the balance and every member of staff in that room knew the next decision made had to be the right one. Except in this case she had no training or experience to fall back upon. She longed to act , but she was impotent, and the overwhelming powerlessness reminded her of that nightmarish moment when she found Zach, her fingers looking for a pulse she already knew she wouldn’t find.

“I am very disappointed in Yao!” raged Masha. “That was an unacceptable mistake! I shall make sure HR knows! A note will go in his file. He will receive a formal letter of warning.”

Napoleon held up his watch by the strap and showed it to Masha. “I’m taking it off.”

Zoe squeezed Heather’s hand convulsively.

“I’m sorry. It was my fault,” said Napoleon in the slow careful tone of someone placating a crazed gunman. “I’m going to destroy it.” He dropped the watch to the ground and went to put his foot over it.

Masha switched tone. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Napoleon, you could cut your foot!” She waved her cigarette about gaily, as if she were in animated conversation at a party, a glass of wine in the other hand.

Heather heard Zoe take a shaky breath and the thought of her daughter’s fear made her want to hurt this madwoman.

“I am not the sort to become too obsessive about bureaucratic rules. I am flexible! I am big picture!” Masha took a long drag of her cigarette. “On the Myers-Briggs personality test I am the Commander! I think you will not be surprised to hear that.”

“This is not good.” Lars peered up at the screen through splayed fingertips.

“She’s off with the fairies,” murmured Tony.

“Nothing is forever,” said Masha irrelevantly. “Remember that. It’s important. Now, who will be presenting first?” She looked around as if searching for something. “Does everyone have coffee? Not yet? Don’t worry. Delilah will have it all under control.”