Page 19

19

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Alex

“But ... it was ... just ... I mean ... uh ... love letters? What do you mean ... confiscate?”

“We found a lot more material on his computer. Disturbing material. It’s going to take a while to sift through it all, so ...”

“A while?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Mrs. Toneatti, but ...”

“What? No—no, no, no. I ... went back to my maiden name shortly after the arrest. We’ll be called Winter from now on.”

“All right, Mrs. Winter. Listen, I want to be frank with you. Your husband’s offense goes much further than just writing love letters to his students. Based on the material we found on his laptop, we have to assume that he has also offended the boys. Your son...”

My mother sobbed. “That ... no!”

I sat at the dining table in front of a plate of pasta and couldn’t finish a bite. Although the policewoman was standing in the living room with my mother, I could hear every word. There was a lump of phlegm in my throat, and all my muscles were cramped with shame.

“No, he didn’t ...”

“We need to talk to your son, Mrs. Winter. The fact that he was the one who found his father is one thing, but who knows what else happened.”

I felt like I was frozen solid. I remained motionless in the chair, wishing I could vanish into thin air. When my mother entered the kitchen with the policewoman, my body shook with fear.

“Alex? Monsieur le photographe?”

I glanced up and took a moment to orient myself. I was standing behind my camera, staring into space, waiting for the okay from the lighting technician. That fleeting moment of not needing to concentrate had catapulted me into other realms—for the fourth time since yesterday.

Corinne’s confession surprised me and made me question things I hadn’t considered before. So many memories were stirred up by it. I was questioning things I hadn’t even had on my radar before. The fact that it was my mother who had alerted the police cast everything in a whole new light. She had given my father time to think. You only do that when you love someone. Moreover, she wouldn’t have done that if she had known how it would all turn out. He could have just left, but instead, he spent his last night with me and then hung himself.

But I was completely detached somehow. My hands were trembling, and I kept running my hands through my hair. My body was like a rumbling volcano that just couldn’t calm down.

Pierre raised his eyebrows in my direction, waiting for my reaction, so I nodded to him and got back to work. I gave instructions to the two models on how to pose and tried to ignore all the nagging memories. But I couldn’t. My heart was racing, and I was sweating as if it were thirty degrees in this unheated hall. The lighting technicians and assistants hadn’t even taken off their winter jackets, and during every break, the two models cuddled up in their coats. But I was drenched. Pierre even asked me if I was sick.

Maybe I was. In some way, definitely. But I brushed off his question with a smile and didn’t even bother to make an excuse. I was too confused for that.

If Corinne hadn’t given my father another night to think, he would never have come into my room and ...

Feeling an abrupt wave of nausea, I abandoned everything and ran out. Next to the entrance, I leaned against the wall and vomited. I felt miserable and didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Are you okay?” Pierre asked with his strong French accent.

I nodded and spat again. “Yeah, maybe it was the tuna sandwich.”

“Peut-être.”

Or the drugs. However, I hadn’t consumed anything since the day before yesterday when I left home. I didn’t need it. I wasn’t addicted. But now, of all times, everything was coming back. Everything! Noé didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Corinne could see that I had relapsed.

And then she drops a bombshell equivalent to a nuclear bomb.

Earlier this week, I had been looking forward to this job opportunity in Geneva. The job had the potential to open a lot of doors for me—if I did it right. But right now, I felt like a complete failure, and Geneva was turning into my own horror trip. I had convinced myself for a long time that my place as a photographer in the advertising industry was becoming more secure, but I was an emotional wreck by now.

“Do you need anything?” Pierre asked, still waiting for me by the doorway.

I knew what would help me, but I wasn’t so desperate that I would call Philippe and ask for a contact here in Geneva. My body rebelling was surely just due to the sleepless nights. I hardly slept last week. But much worse were these damn memories. They made it almost impossible for me to concentrate. The case was clear. I urgently needed something to help me relax—something real.

“I need to make a quick phone call. I’ll be right back with you,” I told Pierre.

Pierre nodded and disappeared back inside. I called Mrs. Gerber, my therapist.

“Alex. Hello, nice of you to call.”

“That sounds like you were expecting my call,” I said in a monotone voice.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need a prescription ... for Valium or something.”

“What happened?”

“I ... oh, come on! You know. My mother dropped the bombshell. And ... I ...”

“How are you feeling?”

I took a deep breath, slowly in and hesitantly out again. “Overwhelmed?” I asked as if I wasn’t quite sure.

“Where are you?”

I felt a surge of anger again. “At work! I haven’t been able to concentrate for two days! And I can’t sleep either. And ... if my heart doesn’t stop racing soon, I probably won’t make it until tonight.”

“You’re welcome to come in today if you want. I have a free appointment. How about ...”

“No, I ... I’m in Geneva. I just need something to calm me down.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. I straightened up, my hand nervously running through my hair, as my gaze wandered aimlessly over the parking lot. It was morning, and I had plenty to do.

“All right, I can write you a prescription. But let’s make an appointment for next week.”

“I can’t make it then,” I lied. I didn’t feel like having a conversation with her. After all, everything was going well. I just needed something to give my brain a break.

“When would it suit you?”

“I’m standing outside in a parking lot,” I explained through gritted teeth. “My calendar is in the hotel.”

“Okay,” she said. “But I want you to call me so we can arrange a time.”

Yeah, yeah , I thought, but muttered, “Okay,” to make her happy.

“Send me the address of the pharmacy where I should send the prescription, and you can pick it up there in an hour at the latest.”

“Thank you,” I said, relieved.

Knowing that I had the prospect of medication after the job made it easier for me to get through the day. The team agreed to work through lunch, so we could finish at three o’clock. I loaded my equipment into the car, said goodbye to everyone, and drove straight to the pharmacy to get the Valium.

There was no way I was driving back to Zurich tonight. I extended my stay for another night, hid in the darkened hotel room, and took a pill.

With limbs outstretched, I lay on the bed, staring at the plaster ceiling, grateful to have gotten through the two days more badly than well. I hope the photos turn out okay. My thoughts drifted away, and in my mind’s eye appeared Noé. Just the thought of him calmed me down a bit. I felt guilty for completely banishing him from my mind for the past two days, but the dark memories had become too overpowering. Now, as I waited for the Valium to take effect, he reappeared.

Why?

Damn! And I even told him I love him!

As much as I would have liked to drive back to Zurich tonight to catch him at Hyde after the concert, it was simply impossible for me.

I wonder how the warm-up concert went?

I’m sure they rocked.

Noé was even more charismatic as a singer than usual. I was sure he had delivered an unforgettable concert. And inside me, there was a flicker of anticipation like I hadn’t felt in a long time. Even if he ignored all my messages and calls, I knew I would see him again at the album release in two weeks at the latest. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to give him time until then to forget about our argument from Tuesday morning—if that was even possible. It also gave me time to get back on track. That evening was my chance to make a good impression. I couldn’t mess it up.

My hand wandered into my pants, and I imagined Noé here with me, touching him, kissing him, and absorbing his warmth. But my dick wasn’t getting hard anymore. The Valium started to take effect, and I fell into an almost comatose sleep.

I checked out promptly on Saturday at eleven. I wasn’t completely refreshed, but I felt rested enough to take the drive back to Zurich. I was back home in the afternoon, relieved that the weekend had arrived.

During the drive, I had thought a lot, devised strategies on how I wanted to get through the next two weeks to prove to Noé, my mother, and myself that this relapse was a one-time thing. As strong as my will was, it felt like I was being guided by an external force as I left my apartment and drove toward Livio’s before sunset.