Ben C. O. Grimm

She said it in the most casual way imaginable. "I will tell you next time we meet." I stopped in my tracks. What? I wasn't even sure if she said it to me. I had seen her coming for some time. A long dark street in a part of the city where it's not exactly good news to encounter anyone at night. Before I could make out the gender of the person approaching me, I felt slightly alarmed. Not only because of the crime rate, but also because I had gone walking to be alone with my raging mind. I felt like I had been walking around for hours and hours. Something weird was hammering inside my skull. Obscure images. Bright colors. Sharp light. Hollow sound. If only I could control them. I tried to put them together into a coherent whole, but they escaped me every time. It was like a waking nightmare. How long had it been going on? As soon as I saw it was a woman, I relaxed. Slightly. Never been mugged by a woman, so why fear her? I adopted a blank stare and told my mind to shut up for a minute or so. Just let her pass. Wait until her footsteps have left me alone. Then resume the monologue. And then she said it, the second she passed me by. I hadn't looked up, so I wasn't sure if someone else had joined her, or if she was talking to someone behind my back. I didn't even get a look at her face. I stood there for a few seconds before I turned around. She had covered a lot of ground in these seconds. The amazement prevented my voice from phrasing the logical questions. I had to scream to reach her. Not a good idea in these surroundings. I started following her, like my mind started following me. It was hard to concentrate on both at the same time. What was she going to tell me next time? The question had hardly materialized when I realized I had lost her. How did she manage to move so damn fast? I ran down the street, careful not to make too much noise. When you run around here, you're running away most of the time. And when you're running away, you're probably carrying a gun or drugs. Commodities worth your life. When I had reached the next intersection, I looked left and right. No sign of her. No hint of perfume, no marks on the pavement. I thought about flipping a coin, but I needed more than half a chance. I turned back and continued my walk. The thoughts that had driven me onto the street didn't return. When I reached the part of the street where I had first seen her coming towards me, I tried to concentrate on every detail of the encounter. I moved forward very slowly to force the scene into a slow motion. Person approaching. A woman. Dark clothes. Pants. Jacket. Don't know about her face or hair. Her voice. Nothing special. Just female. No accent. Words spoken in a normal way. Neither soft nor loud. Not threatening. Not cynical or eerie. Not like an omen or a foreboding. No lead at all. Could it have been someone I know? No, I would have recognized her, I'm sure. Rewind and playback. Hold the frame. Zoom in. No. This wasn't getting me anywhere but home. I went up to my flat, but didn't turn on the lights. I needed to be in the dark room to develop the hazy picture a bit more. A blinking red light attracted my attention. The answering machine. Blink. Black. Blink. Black. One message. I pressed the play button and walked over to the couch. I froze. It was her again. The message was over before I had had a chance to hear what she was actually saying. Rewind. Play. Hiss. "Be patient. I will tell you today." Click. Beep. How did she get hold of my unlisted number? I sat down on the couch and tried to think. What did I have on her? A body, a voice, a quick pace, and two lines. She seemed to have a lot more on me. It bothered me that she didn't seem to want anything from me. She wanted to tell me something. Why didn't she just tell me? I sat there for another half hour. Then I gave up and went to bed. The doorbell woke me up. Six thirty. Christ. I put on my pants and a shirt in the dark. Within seconds of opening the front door, I was on the floor. Hands cuffed behind my back. Pushed into a car. "You have the right to remain silent." What? I looked up. Two faces were staring at me. Then they looked me over. "Nice shirt," they said. It was covered in blood. There was blood on my pants as well. "Hey," I said, "did you cut my wrists when you cuffed me?" They laughed out loud. "Your hands are behind your back," they said, "while the blood's on your chest and the front of your pants. It's not your blood, and you know it." My mind went blank. I just sat there, while my body moved along with the movements of the car. We weren't going to the police station, I could figure out that much. The car stopped in a small street, just outside my neighborhood. The two faces got out and opened the back door. They grabbed my shoulders and pulled me out. "You know the way," they said. I didn't move. Why did they bring me here? Someone pushed me in the back, towards an open door. "Up the stairs," a voice behind me said. Careful not to lose my balance, I mounted the stairs. "To the left." I entered a room. I couldn't believe my eyes. The were dozens of photographs on the walls. My face on every single one of them. Some of them were covered in blood. None of the pictures even looked remotely familiar to me. And I wasn't alone in all of them. It was her. It was that woman. I was absolutely sure, even though I hadn't seen her face. I stared at the picture in which we were standing side by side, holding hands, smiling. I felt my brain grinding to a halt. "Why did you kill her?", one of the faces asked. Kill her? Kill who? A shrill voice shook me up "That's him! That's the one! Murderer!!". I looked over my shoulder. A middle-aged woman waved her finger at me. Her face was twisted. Pure hatred. Utter disgust. She was ushered out. "Look," I said. "I don't know what this is all about. I saw her last night, on the street. I have never seen her before in my life." "You'll have to do better than that," one of the faces said. "She was killed two days ago. And you know it." I told him that was impossible. "I saw her last night. She even called me a few hours ago. I have no idea who she is!" The face looked at the pictures. "Is that you?". I couldn't deny that. "But I don't know how these pictures ..", I started, but the voice interrupted me. "That's all we need to know." The phone rang. One of the faces answered the call. He said 'yes' a few times. "Thanks." He put the phone down. "One of my men. He's in your flat. He listened to the tape. "Be patient. I will tell you soon". Interesting. We traced the call. It was made two days ago." "That's impossible!", I shouted. "I saw her last night. She passed me by and told me she would tell me next time we'd meet. I didn't know her. I don't know what she wanted to tell me." The faces looked bored. "She told you alright. You didn't take it very well. You blew your top." He held a video tape to my face. "Was it the part with the pony?".

© Ben C. O. Grimm