Jerry shook his head, confused. “I was sure it was sitting right here on the table when I left for work yesterday.”
“Not in the kitchen, either. Guess you’ll have to read one of those magazines instead.” He returned to the chair. “At least you don’t live with someone like my Carmella, who puts my crap away before it even hits the coffee table. Your book’ll show up, lad. It’s probably sitting next to the loo.”
“Yeah, maybe.” But not possible, Jerry thought. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn’t take Ana into the bathroom with him, but he got up to check anyway, just in case.
Manny looked under the magazines, too. “Get back—what are you doing?! It’s only a bloody book, mate.”
Jerry came out of the bathroom, shaking his head. “It’s not really my book. Sort of a loaner.”
“Was it in there?”
“No.”
“Maybe you took it to work… and don’t even think about going there to look, cuz I’m on my way there and I’ll check your office for you myself. Like I said—it’ll pop up.”
Jerry tried to appear relaxed but was starting to worry. “Yeah, you’re right. Look, I appreciate you picking me up and bringing me home, Manny. I think I should relax. Maybe even have a nap.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Nap, sleep, kick back and watch porn—whatever you do to wind down. I’ll see you after your days off.” He got back out of the chair and retrieved his coat.
“Definitely, Manny. Does porn help you relax?”
“I’m married to an amazing woman, Jerr—I have no need for the likes of pornography.” His expression was neutral but Jerry saw a twinkle in his eyes. He opened the door and stepped into the hall, picking up the still dripping umbrella. “Now rest. I’ll update everyone at work so they don’t keep calling to see how you’re doing.”
“Thanks. Çiao, Manny.” He stood in the doorway and watched as the tall Aussie descended the stairs and exited out into the downpour, popping the umbrella up before stepping onto the sidewalk. As soon as his boss was out of sight, Jerry ducked back into the apartment and locked the door. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Chapter Eleven
@TheTaoOfJerr: “Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without.”
JERRY RAMPED HIS search up a couple of notches. He moved furniture, yanked off the seat cushions, stripped the bed, and emptied half-filled book shelves in a fruitless effort to find Ana. After an hour, exhausted, he grabbed his jacket and headed out into the rain. He had no idea how she could have left the loft, but he would search until he found her. For all he knew, Ana went for a walk and couldn’t find her way back. He headed straight for the one area he knew Ana knew—the Inner Harbour.
SITTING AT THE base of the statue of Queen Victoria, Jerry ignored the cold, sporadic drizzle as he numbly stared out at the monstrous private yacht moored in the Inner Harbour. Periodically he took out his iPhone to make sure the ringer volume was turned up. This numbness and phone-checking pattern went on for almost an hour before he decided, in some deep recess of his brain, to keep walking.
So he walked. He walked the path that he and Ana had walked two days ago. Then he walked streets and lanes he had never seen before. After an hour he was still walking, sullen and listless. The rain stopped and a fog rolled in, but Jerry didn’t notice. Even as the fog thickened and the dark, clinging sensation in the air around him was one that would have suited Jack the Ripper, Jerry wandered on autopilot, led by some inner compass. Had anyone stopped and asked him where he was going he would have had no answer. In that mental and physical fog, he didn’t even know where he was or where he’d been, until he was standing on the street in front of The Ipatiev House Antiques.
Recognition dawned slowly and he shuffled forward until his forehead leaned against the glass door of the shop. His breath was long and slow and a little ragged with the cold and damp, and after a minute of leaning, he stumbled away in silence, making for the loft.
Once he left the antique store he found the loft easily enough. There was still no sign of Ana when he dropped his wet coat on the floor, peeled off his damp clothes, and flopped into bed, naked, pulling the covers up tight around him. Somehow he managed to keep the phone with him and it lay on the comforter next to him, a silent sentinel.
HUNGER FINALLY DRAGGED Jerry awake and after pulling on his pyjamas and robe, and nibbling on some cold leftovers, he lit a fire in the fireplace to chase off the damp chill. He soon dozed off on the couch. Wrapped in his monstrous robe, he almost looked comfortable, but the bags under his eyes and the pallor of his skin spoke the truth. He was a mess.
ANA EMERGED FROM her darkness into the flat and discovered that not only was the morning light shining in the window, but someone had tossed the bedding around and pulled everything off the shelves. Then she heard the familiar snoring and charged into the living room to find Jerry asleep on the couch.
JERRY WOKE, SLOWLY, sensing that he wasn’t alone. Sitting on the floor but leaning against the couch by his knees, Ana turned and smiled up at him.
“Ana? My God! Where have you—”
She reached up and put a finger on his lips to hush him. “Look what I can do.” Holding the book up, she pirouetted and then skipped around the loft. When she got back around to the front door, she opened it with a flourish, and Jerry could hear her footsteps as she ran down the stairs and then back up again. He sat up as she returned and closed the door behind her.
“I can go anywhere! I just have to take the book.”
“Amazing.”
She sat down next to him and hugged him. “Oh, Jerry, I missed you. Where were you? I never thought I would see you again, see you to tell you YA lyublyu tebya!—I love you.”
Jerry’s funk flooded back in. He flashed a wan smile and hugged her back, hard. “Thanks, but I might not be the best choice for your heart.”
“You’re perfect for me. What is wrong?”
“While you were off ‘exploring’—”
“Jerry, I would never wander off without telling you. Nikogda ne—Never. I was here, the whole time.” She took his hand, laced her fingers with his. “But where were you? I was worried.”
“Yeah. About that. My headaches may be more than just diet or stress. They ran some tests while I was in the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“Yeah, I sort of fell down and went boom at work.”
“Oh, Jerry…” She held his hands to her chest as if to draw the illness out and into herself.
“Then I got home and I couldn’t find the book or you. I didn’t know what to do. I looked for you everywhere.”
“I am so very sorry.” She kissed him softly on the cheek. “What can the doctors do for you?”
“They’ve scheduled me for a test—an MRI—next week, and I guess we’ll take it from there.”
“After this testing, then what?”
“You really want to know about this, don’t you?”
“Of course. My brother, Alexei, was sick from the day he was born, and we saw a great many physicians and surgeons come and go, to no avail. It was not until Grigori came to us that we really saw a change in Alexei.”
“The mad monk cured your brother’s hemophilia?”
“He was hardly mad, although he was a very eccentric starets—a holy man—but he could not cure Alexei. No one could. He just helped him to build what strength he could, made him more comfortable, and helped my mother deal with the stress and pain.” She stopped and sighed. Jerry gave her a gentle hug but his cheek passed through hers.