“We’ve met. They came by the apartment. It seems I’m under suspicion.”
A gong was struck. The overture blasted away any chance for further conversation. House lights down, stage lights up, and descending from a platform the slumberland bed with the sleeping boy, the phantasmagoria of dreams commenced once more. Theo nearly broke down in tears when Sarant and the flowers came around, imagining Kay instead of her understudy in the role. As they watched Sarant balance atop the silver ball and contort her body into an arch, he poked Egon in the ribs and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Why would they think I had anything to do with her disappearance?”
“It’s always the husband.” The little man shrugged. “They wondered if I had seen you that night. But how would I know to look for you? We hadn’t even met.”
“But I wasn’t here. I was working that night and only stepped out for dinner.”
Illuminated by the footlights, Sarant wobbled, threatening to fall, and a gasp raced through the crowd. Theo wondered if the contortionist had been distracted by the presence of a corpse peering out of the darkness, but she recovered and slowly unwound herself back to the stage to welcome applause. As the show went on, he kept trying to find the ghost, but she proved elusive, blending in with the spectators ringing the stage. Theo and Egon sat in silence through the entr’actes and the grand tumbling finale. He could not resist the temptation to watch for Kay, though he knew that she would not appear.
After the show, they walked back through the quiet streets to Egon’s cell at the warehouse. The tourists were steps ahead of them, peeling off to their cars parked along the side streets, or making the hike back into the Old City through a light fog that obscured the way.
“Come inside for a moment,” Egon said at the door. “You look like shit, and perhaps you could benefit from another drink.”
He followed Egon to his room and accepted a tumbler of Scotch. The women on the walls looked down upon them, and the empty warehouse was as quiet as a cathedral.
“Perhaps I should not say this, but I trust you and think you tell the truth. One of the detectives let slip a small clue to their thinking. He said that when you first reported her missing, you said something about a murder to the attendant who took your statement.”
“Murder? I said nothing of the sort. The sergeant was the one who talked about what happens to people who go missing. Do they think Kay was murdered?”
“As I said, a faux pas. Madness.”
“A body washed up,” Theo said. “A Jane Doe who drowned in the Saint Lawrence last week. They had no idea who she was. Naturally, when they couldn’t identify her, they thought it might be Kay. They took me to the morgue.”
Egon choked on his Scotch, sputtering to catch his breath.
“I am still in shock. It was horrible. Not Kay, of course, but close enough. She was black and blue and swollen from the water.”
“And you are sure?”
“No, not Kay. There was a resemblance, and I can see why they dragged me over there.” He was trying not to cry. “But it was just too much for me.”
“Let me freshen your drink. What an ordeal.”
The liquor wormed its way through his body. He sat awhile with his thoughts, debating whether to confess his fears. “I’m going crazy with worry. Can’t sleep, can’t eat. Every day I get out in the morning, first thing, and go out searching. I see her everywhere, but when I get close, she morphs into another woman.”
Egon handed him the bottle. “Tomorrow I will help you look. Now, go home, get some rest. Take the Scotch with you and drink it till you fall asleep. Keep up your spirits, mon ami. She is out there somewhere.”
The fog had thickened during the interval, a summer storm rolling in. Thunder boomed over the Saint Lawrence, and lightning illuminated the Frontenac. The rain started to pelt down before he was halfway home. The smell of cold water against the hot cobblestones. Heavy drops, rills tumbling along the curbs, puddles in the intersections. His wet clothes clung to his body and his shoes bubbled with water at each step. Drenched and weary, doused with drink, he slogged into the apartment, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the rugs. He laid down the bottle of Scotch, took off his clothes, and toweled off. Kay would have relished getting caught in the storm, she would have spread her arms and thrown open her face to the falling rain. She would have loved it, and he would have worried about catching a cold. Theo tumbled into bed, certain that if he could sleep, just sleep, he would be better in the morning. In the middle of the night, he was awakened by the sensation of rainfall. Drops of water on his bare chest and face, and in his stupor he wondered if he had been crying in his sleep. Through the shadows of the room, he realized that it was the drowned woman on top of him, straddling his body, and as his sight adjusted to the half-light, he could see the beseeching look in her eyes and hear her whisper again, “How have you forgotten me?”