Reckoning Point, стр. 4
Elian looks at the card and then back up to meet the girl’s eyes. “Thank you …”
“Brigitta,” she says and reaching out a hand she squeezes Elian’s arm. “My name’s Brigitta, and I’m right next door, if you ever need … anything.”
After Brigitta has gone Elian closes the door and leans against it. Is it obvious from just looking at her that she is in desperate need of medical help?
“The night time screaming probably gives it away a little,” she mutters to herself.
She throws the card down on a side table and goes back to the bedroom, picking up the abandoned blanket on the way. Climbing back in bed she wraps the blanket around her and stares out of the window.
She can see her reflection in the glass and she averts her gaze, not wanting to look at the mess she has become. She wonders about seeing a doctor, knows that she was supposed to, Alex kept reminding her that she must make an appointment at the clinic, should get tested and checked over.
But she never made the appointment. For if she has got something, a disease that the madman passed along to her, what point is there to knowing? Sometimes it’s better to stay in the dark on certain matters.
But her memory, the weird blank spots in her brain; that might be something that needs to be checked out. She has a funny feeling that today is not the first time Brigitta has told Elian her name. And she doesn’t think it’s the first time Brigitta has knocked on Elian’s door to wake her from a screaming fit either.
With a sigh Elian turns from the window and shuffles into the kitchen area. She flicks the kettle on and while she is waiting for it to boil she opens a drawer and removes a brown notebook. She flicks through the pages that are filled with her neat handwriting until she finds a blank page then she writes down the name ‘Brigitta’, and underlines it three times. As an afterthought she adds the word ‘neighbour’ beside it. She is about to put the notebook back where she keeps it when she opens it up again, finds what she has just written and then flicks back a few pages. There is a page with a date on it, 28th June, and on the page is written ‘Brigitta’. Elian frowns, flips back further to a page on which is written the date of 25th June. Again, underneath the date, Brigitta’s name is written in Elian’s writing.
She slams the book closed and shoves it in the drawer. A cold film of sweat creeps across her face and as she plucks a mug from the cupboard she sees her hand is shaking.
It can’t be ignored; her brain is in worse condition than she originally thought.
With a hot, strong, sweet tea cradled in her hands she goes back to the bed, puts the mug on the windowsill and looks out at the early morning bustle in the streets below.
It’s a good view from here; in the near distance she can see the pier and the beach and looking the other way provides views of green parks and tram lines. If this were a holiday destination it would prove to be very calming. But Elian is not here for a break, she’s got unfinished business, like her frequent nightmares keep reminding her.
Although she knows that they’re not really nightmares.
They are memories.
4
LEV
DEN HAAG and later, SCHEVENINGEN
3.7.15 Mid-morning
Lev Aliyev pauses in front of the Hotel Des Indes and takes a moment to study the yellow fronted facade. He can barely believe this is his home for the time being. It’s so opulent and rich; it’s everything that Lev is not but everything that he wants to be.
He feels pumped just being here. Finally, after decades spent in the wasteland that was Chernobyl, he is free. And there are people here, locals and tourists, young and old and in between. Naturally gregarious, Lev knows that Holland will suit him just fine.
But he can’t stay here at the Hotel Des Indes forever. Although he has money, at €250 per night this hotel is most certainly a stop gap.
In the three weeks that Lev has been here he has travelled the number one tram between The Hague and Scheveningen Strand countless times. He likes the look of both ends; although the green wooded areas in the middle are a bit too close to what he has recently fled from, so he knows he can disregard that part. His only decision is to choose between the bustling, lively city centre and the seaside resort with all its traditional features. And today he has an appointment with a realtor at noon to view an apartment in what is reputed to be a nice complex on Gevers Deynootweg. In fact, he thinks, glancing at his watch, it’s getting on to mid-morning. He may as well make his way to the apartment now, at least then he can check out the immediate area before the agent arrives.
Buoyed by the chance of a new, permanent home, Lev makes his way through the winding streets that are always lined by a canal to the main train station and climbs on the next tram to Scheveningen.
After alighting from the tram he takes a shortcut over the reedy green area that separates the beach from the street and begins walking along the promenade. It is busy, tourists and residents, street sellers and ice-cream vans line the promenade. He pauses at many of the restaurants, making a mental note of the ones he would like to try. He suppresses his excitement at having so much choice available after