Melanie Raabe - The Trap

“Stay where you are,” says Julian. “Keep calm.”

At that moment, Lenzen comes around the side of the house. When he realizes I’m not alone, he stops in his tracks, in the dark.

“Police!” Julian shouts. “Drop the gun!”

Lenzen stands there — still a mere shadow. Then, in a single, swooping movement, he lifts his hand to his head and shoots.

He drops to the ground.

Then it falls very quiet.

From the rough draft of Blood Sisters by Linda Conrads Nina Simone (not included in the published edition)

One evening, he stood outside her door, unannounced.

She had asked him in. She had poured them some wine. He had asked how she was, and she’d replied that she was okay: it was going to be all right and she didn’t want to complain. They sat on her sofa, Jonas at one end, Sophie at the other, and Sophie’s puppy between them, frisky and impetuous. They laughed and drank, and for a few precious moments, Sophie forgot about Britta and the shadow. Eventually the dog was worn out from playing and fell asleep. Sophie got up to turn over the record they had been listening to. When the music had started up again, bubbly and electronic, and Sophie had sat down again, she looked searchingly at Jonas, who was finishing his second glass of wine.

“Why are we doing this?” Sophie asked.

“What?”

Jonas glanced at her with his strange, beautiful eyes.

“All this! Always seeking each other’s company, although you’re still married and I’ve only just broken off my engagement and am an emotional wreck…” She faltered and ran her hand through her hair. “Why do you pretend you can’t ring me up but have to tell me everything in person? Why do I sit around on your steps at night? Why do you hang around outside my front door? Isn’t it unwise of us to want to plunge straight into something else?”

“Oh yes, absolutely,” says Jonas.

“But if we know that,” Sophie replied, “then why are we prolonging the agony and the yearning?”

Jonas gave a slight smile. His dimple appeared.

“Because we need the agony and the yearning. Because that’s what makes us feel alive,” he said.

For a few moments they looked at each other in silence.

“I think I’d better go now,” said Jonas, getting up.

“Yes.”

Sophie stood.

“Well…”

There was a moment of hesitation, then they just did it. They overcame the distance between them and found each other. He held her, stroking her hair cautiously, as if she were a wild animal that was only beginning to grow tame — and everything that came afterward was dark and beautiful and crimson and confusing.

Next morning Sophie was woken by screeching swifts flying through the streets. She felt for him even before she opened her eyes. He was gone.

She sighed. She had lain awake half the night, listening to Jonas’s breathing and wondering what to do, before eventually falling asleep. He had relieved her of the decision by slipping out while she was still asleep: they weren’t going to see each other again.

Sophie got up, pulled up the blinds, shivered with cold, got dressed, went to put on some coffee in the kitchen — and started when she caught sight of Jonas sitting on the sofa in the living room. Her heart leaped. He hadn’t stolen out; he had waited for her to wake up.

He hadn’t heard her coming. For a few moments she looked at the whorl of dark hair on the back of his head. She believed in things like this — in being able to trust your instincts. Perhaps she should say so — take the plunge. No, she couldn’t; she’d only make a fool of herself.

“Good morning!” she said.

Jonas turned to face her. “Good morning!” He smiled, embarrassed.

“Coffee?” Sophie asked.

“That would be great.”

She went into the kitchen and put on the coffee, struggling with herself. Life is short, she thought. I’ll just say it. If I don’t say it now, I never will.

She returned to the living room, her legs trembling. She stopped behind him and cleared her throat.

“Jonas? There’s something I have to tell you. It’s hard for me, so…please don’t interrupt.”

He listened in silence.

“I don’t want you to leave. I’d like you to stay here. I think you feel when it’s right. And I feel it.”

Her words seemed to roll across the parquet like marbles. Jonas bowed his head a little. Sophie faltered. Perhaps she was making a mistake. Perhaps she was making a fool of herself. But the ball was in motion now, sliding inexorably downhill.

“I know the circumstances are hopeless. You’re still in a relationship and I’ve split up with the man I was supposed to be getting married to in the spring. And, of course, I don’t want you to get into trouble at work for getting involved with a witness.”

Sophie paused, gasping for air. Jonas still said nothing, listening attentively. Her throat constricted.

“But I want you, do you understand? I want you.”

Sophie noticed that she was crying. It came over her so quickly nowadays. She tried to collect herself, wiping away her tears, her temples throbbing.

“Okay,” she said, exhausted. “I’ve said what I wanted to say.”

Still he was silent.

“Jonas?”

He turned his head, starting slightly when he realized she was standing behind him. He turned right the way around, took his headphones out of his ears, and smiled.

“Did you say something?” he asked. He pointed his chin at his MP3 player. “I’m rediscovering my love for Nina Simone.”

Then he saw her face.

“Are you okay, Sophie? Have you been crying?” Sophie swallowed.

“It’s nothing. I’m all right.”

She felt dizzy. He hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said. And she didn’t have the strength to repeat it. Maybe it was better that way. How could she say all that to him after only one night?

“Are you sure?”

The flat seemed incredibly airless to her.

“Yes, I’m all right,” she said. “But listen, I have to go. I’d completely forgotten that I’m meeting my gallerist this morning.”

“Oh, okay. But…what about the coffee? I thought we…”

“I have to go. Don’t be offended. Just pull the door shut behind you when you leave.”

She saw that he was surprised — maybe also disappointed. Then he forced a smile.

“Sure,” he said.

Sophie turned to go. She took a few steps; her legs were heavier than usual. Then she stopped, turning to face him again.

“Jonas?”

“Yes?”

“Get in touch when you’re ready — when you want to see me again. Give me a sign. Okay?”

His eyes became grave.

“Okay.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

Sophie could feel his gaze on her back as she left.

There it is again — that keen, red feeling. I am back on the lawn in front of Victor Lenzen’s house. A shot echoes in my head, I can feel the grass beneath my palms, I am cold, and my head hurts.

“Frau Michaelis?”

It takes a while for the voice to get through to me.

“Frau Michaelis?”

I look up, slowly readjusting to reality. This is the police station. Frau Michaelis, that’s me — although I’m used to being called by my nom de plume, Conrads. The policeman addressing me, whose name I’ve forgotten, has already questioned me this morning. He is aloof but friendly, and there’s no end to his questions.

“Do you need a break?” he asks.

“No, thanks,” I say.

My voice sounds tired and chastened. I can’t remember precisely when I last slept longer than a few minutes.

“We’re almost done.”

My thoughts return to the dark lawn in front of Lenzen’s house again as I answer the policeman’s questions as if on autopilot. I’m sitting on the grass, out of breath. A shot echoes in my ears. Julian is looking into my face, indicating to me not to stir from the spot, not that I could anyway, even if I wanted to. I watch him move cautiously toward Lenzen, who’s lying on the ground, in the dark, and — too late, far too late — I think: it’s a trick! Just one of his tricks! But Julian has already reached the figure; I see him bending down, and, anticipating a second shot, I let out a noiseless scream. But nothing happens. I’m so cold. I’m trembling all over. I see Julian stand up again and walk back toward me.