Chosen
by Andrew Lee-Hart

 

 

One (Liverpool)

 

As I did every morning, I checked The Times from cover to cover, just in case Adele is there. Perhaps she is mentioned in some minor piece of news, her name in the Birth, Marriages or – god forbid – death, perhaps her picture amongst spectators at a cup final, with another family by her side, without a thought for the man who is obsessively looking for her.

 

And then I watched the News, hoping for a glimpse of her on the television; her chestnut brown hair, her direct gaze and the jeans and rugby tops she liked to wear. It is now almost five years since I last saw her, so she may well have changed her style, the colour of her hair or even altered her face. Perhaps I wouldn’t recognise her, but I keep looking.

 

I thought I saw her once; a clip about cheese rolling in Gloucester and there she was in the background, her top was blue and white squared and she was staring at the chaos in front of her, completely unaware of the camera. But it was her, I was sure of it. Although once I was on the train to Gloucester, I became less certain. It had been only a glimpse, and it just been the rugby top she was wearing that attracted my attention, if it hadn’t been for that I would not have even noticed her.

 

But I spent a week in that fine city. The kind of work I do involves travelling about and I had something to deal with in Bristol, so it worked out quite well. Most days I would go out in the morning, exploring and then after working in the afternoon, I would visit various pubs and restaurants, looking, always looking. And then after a week I came back, home having found nothing, but perhaps I had not expected to. Even my work in Bristol had been messier than I had expected it to be.

 

I remember the last time I saw Adele; she had been walking away, but then half turned for a moment, and our eyes met, her expression was strange, remote as if she had already disengaged herself from me, and then she was gone, immersed by the crowd at the Albert Dock. And she never came home; there was no message, just silence and absence. She was impulsive, and sometimes did go out for the evening with friends which turned into a couple of days away. But by the end of the week I realised that something was definitely wrong but as much as I searched, and with my job that is something I am good at, there was no trace, and I have never seen her since, unless that young woman in the heart of Gloucestershire was her, living a new life.

 

I would have probably left Liverpool several years ago if it hadn’t been for her disappearance; I have no connections here and The Organisation encourages us to move about at least every couple of years, although when you are married to a Gentile, allowances can be made. We only moved here because Adele wanted to be near her parents, and apparently her friends, although I never met any of them. 

 

Although I prefer London, the closest I have to a home, I do like walking through Liverpool city centre; looking up at the office blocks, the windows that reflect the sun, the straight lines, the metal. I sometimes wonder if Adele is in one of these buildings, working away on a computer, sending out messages, having forgotten about me. Or perhaps she is trapped behind sleek metal doors, unable to move, unable to scream for help.

 

As I had no appointments, I drove into the city centre and used the Organisation’s car park, which is free to the Chosen. As I walked through the city I was always looking, turning constantly, retracing my steps.  Adele would be thirty-two now; perhaps she had put on weight, stopped smoking. I wondered if she tasted the same, felt the same, her mouth nibbling mine, her hand stroking my back.

 

Many of the buildings in the centre of Liverpool are Victorian, neo-classical. I looked upwards to catch the interesting details of the buildings, but then panic, thinking I may have missed seeing her, and start to look around me again. And why do I continue to look in Liverpool? Surely she is either far away from here, or dead, but I don’t want to think about that, even though death is my work.

 

Later I bought a sandwich from “Pret”.  And although it was cold I walked down to the docks and ate it looking out over to Birkenhead, where Adele’s parents live. I visit them sometimes, although I am not sure how pleased they are to see me, they never contact me, and rarely say much when I am there, but I think it is important to keep in touch. I suspect they blame me for their daughter disappearing, perhaps they think I did it, that I murdered her, and yet they tried to stop me calling the police when she left; not that the police did do anything when I did call them, just questioned me a bit and then told me she had a right to live her own life. It was as if nobody cared other than me.

 

I sat in Liverpool Central Library all afternoon doing some work and every so often checking the internet for Adele, I used to be so dedicated in my work, but whilst I am still happy to get my hands dirty, I have become lax with the paperwork and the research; my mind wanders and I make mistakes. Perhaps I should look for something new, but unfortunately once you are one of the Chosen there is no going back, but perhaps They could find me something different to do, although I am not sure what.

 

 The library was full of students and middle-aged men with carrier bags. A young woman sat down at the table next to me, she spread pens and pencils on her desk and tapped away on her keyboard. She smelled of lemons and sighed every so often, as if unhappy with what she was writing. I was ready to be distracted and so glanced at this woman who was just my type; well-dressed and with long black hair with which she constantly fiddled with.

 

“What are you studying?” I asked her. She had given up work for the moment, and was leaning back in her chair staring at the ceiling. She gave me a smile, as if glad for the interruption.

“Oh economics, god it is tedious.”

“Would you like a coffee? You look like you could do with a break.”

She agreed, and I suggested the small café in the library, but she said that she wanted to get out and so we ended up going to the Bluecoat Chambers to drink herbal tea and eat homemade muffins.

 

She was a fellow Londoner and I realised that she was a little older than I originally thought; mid to late twenties, or even early thirties. We talked of Isaac Babel and Dannil Kharms, two writers I like hugely but who nobody else I have ever met has even heard of let alone read. So we had a lovely conversation and then she told me she had a lecture to go to, and as we stood up to part, she kissed me full on the lips, her body briefly pushing against mine as she did so, and as I held her for a moment I thought that I should suggest we meet again, but for some reason I didn’t, there was something about her that was strange, or inauthentic, as if she wasn’t who she was pretending to be. And with my job you don’t take chances.

 

I finished my tea and drove back home, thinking of the young woman who I hoped that I would never see again, but whose taste of lemon was on my lips all evening to remind me of her.

 

 

Two (Budapest).

 

I had been ordered to Budapest by work almost a month ago, staying in an expensive hotel and waiting for orders. The hotel was on Andrassy Avenue, where most of the embassies and consulates lie, and two minutes away was the Museum of Terror which I visited twice.

 

Whilst I waited I explored the city; visiting galleries, walking along the river and taking trams through the city. Even then I was still looking for Adele, even though she had no connection to Budapest so far as I knew.

 

Sometimes she had gone with me when I had my trips abroad, we had travelled together to Paris and Rome, even to Tirana, but other times she would stay at home.

“You don’t need me,” she would say, “I will only get in the way.”

But I liked her with me, I felt less isolated and felt I stood out less with her by my side. Of course I made sure that she would not be involved with anything dangerous. And I missed her now, with nobody to talk to and nobody to share my bed with at the end of the day.

 

Oddly she had never asked me about my work; when we first met, I told her I worked for a bank based in the United Emirates, and the reason for my constant travelling was to arrange meetings and broker deals. She seemed to accept this without question as if she did not care, although she occasionally mocked me for my incompetence with money.

“I wouldn’t like you to be my bank manager” she would say and laugh, “call yourself a banker.” But then she rarely talked of her job either, working as some kind of secretary, it was as if work was something separate from our lives, which suited me of course.

 

I was ordered to attend tea at the North Korean Embassy. I have no idea why I was sent there, but I was expected and talked in German to a North Korean General about revolution and sport, whilst I ate disgusting sandwiches, sandwiches that my companion very sensibly ignored. It would have been good to have had Adele by my side to witness this and to laugh about it with afterwards.

 

It was on my last day that I thought that I saw her for a moment; I was walking over the Szechnyi Chain Bridge, as I had a meeting with a man at the Hilton Hotel on the other side of the river. And then there was a face I recognised, only for a moment, and then she was gone. I turned round and tried to reach her. It was Autumn and cool, so the bridge was not busy, but I could not see her. I retraced my steps, hoping I had pushed past her and would see her again, but she was not there. I made my way to the hotel, puffing slightly but almost on time.

 

 

I left the hotel ten minutes later, the American businessman dead in his bed. I have done this lots of times now so that I can almost do it in my sleep; Mr Noah will appear as if he died from a heart attack after too much cocaine, something that he was more than a little partial to. However I would be out of Budapest by the end of the day, with nothing to connect me to the dead man, no fingertips, no mess.

 

There was no point in rushing back to the hotel, so I took a cruise down the Danube, with several Australian tourists. I was handed wine and sat outside despite the chill in the air. I sipped my wine and gazed up at the castle as we floated past, and then realised that there was someone sitting next to me. She was in her forties and smartly dressed, I was not sure how long she had been there for, but I knew she straight away that she was one of The Chosen.

 

“Well done,” she told me, “as efficient as always.”

I said nothing, I was surprised, this was not the way that The Organisation does things.

“Perhaps you should have a little holiday.”

“Why?”

“You are overworked, you seem obsessed.”

“Obsessed?”

“Obsessed. Leave her be. You are drawing attention to yourself.”

I stared out at the Hungarian Parliament, considering.

 

“Do you know where she is?”

“She is dead. That’s all you need to know. She had discovered too much. You have been more careful, try and keep it that way.”

I continued to look out at the river. The woman smelt of nothing, was nothing. Just a face from the Organisation, probably high up in the Priesthood. I wanted her to go away, but she continued to sit by my side, sipping wine and giving nothing away.

“Be careful.”

“Be careful of what?”

“Just be careful.”

 

 

Three (Bed)

 

“Do you like my body?” Adele asked.

I kissed her, toes, knee, her pubis, her tummy, her lips.

“What would you do if I left you?” she asked after a few moments, “would you come looking for me? Or would you find somebody else?”

“Why are you planning on leaving me?”

She shook her head, “no, not yet, but I just wondered.”

 

“Neither.”

“Neither what?”

“I wouldn’t go looking for you, but nor would I meet somebody else. I would just exist.”

“Uhm. Now kiss me again…down there.”

But of course it was all theoretical, I never thought for one moment that she would really leave me. And when she did how could I help but try to find her?

 

 

 

Four (Birkenhead)

 

They weren’t expecting me. I could hear them open their front door and Adele’s father headed upstairs to the toilet, whilst her mother went into the kitchen where I had been waiting for the last hour.

“Pete” she called, “you need to come down.”

He looked flurried when he walked into the kitchen.

“You need to put that gun away” he told me, but his voice was shaky, so I ignored him, I knew that he was just going through the motions.

 

“You need to tell me where Adele is” I told them both, “it has gone on too long. People keep lying and I need to see her.”

“We don’t know, honestly,” said her mother, appearing braver than her husband who was paralysed with fright.

I looked at her, and she looked straight back, which is not always the sign of honesty that people think it is.

I was readying myself to shoot her, knowing that with a bit of encouragement her husband would tell all he knew, but just before I pulled the trigger, she spoke.

“She telephones us occasionally, or she used to, just asks us how we are, says how much she misses us, but that’s all.”

“You must have a clue?”

“We wouldn’t tell you if we did, but actually we don’t. We know that she is scared of you, and that it is because of you she fled. We won’t tell you anything.” She looked determined whilst beside her, her husband stared deeply at the kitchen table, wishing all this away.

“Tell her I love her, and just want to see her….next time she rings, tell her that.”

“But she doesn’t ring anymore, she hasn’t for months. We think that she is dead, and that you killed her, or perhaps you haven’t. But she doesn’t want you, or she wouldn’t have run away.”

 

 

Five (Istanbul)

 

The bookstore was close to the entrance to the railway station; it sold cheap paperbacks and newspapers, and there were a few people browsing half-heartedly, killing time before their train came in. I walked straight past it, and as casually as I could dropped the brown bag in my hand just to the side of the entrance, as I had been told to. And then I hurried away. I was earlier than I should have been, having given myself plenty of time; the city is always busy and it is easy to get held up. I now had twenty minutes to get as far away as possible. I hadn’t been told what was in the bag, but I could guess and walked away quickly, looking straight ahead.

 

In fact there must have made a mistake, because I was still on the station steps when there was a dull thud and walls started falling down…and then there were the screams. I was knocked to the bottom of the stairs, but quickly got up and hurried away, feeling sore and frightened.

 

What had gone wrong? I should have been dead, and if I had been on time I would have been. I was in shock, as I heard sirens coming closer, and people pushed passed me to get to the railway station.

 

And then there she was, standing alone in the small park opposite the station. She was staring at the chaos in front of her, but not moving, seemingly uninterested, like a war god, looking at a battle below her. Maybe a little curious, but that was all.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her.

“Waiting for you. I was told you would be here.”

“Who by?”

“Who do you think? Now let’s grab a coffee.”

 

I saw her exchange a look with the owner of the cafe as we walked in. It was on a quiet seeming side street, and inside there was only a young couple and an old man, sitting together and talking quietly. We drank strong, dark coffee and nibbled on some kind of pastry. Just as she used to, Adele lit a cigarette, but this one smelled more exotic than the Marlboros that she used to smoke.

 

Now that she was sitting opposite me, I felt as if I did not know her. She was not the woman I was looking for; she seemed older somehow, her skin was darker, and she was dressed more neatly than in the past, wearing a suit and an expensive looking silk green scarf.

“Why did you leave me?”

“They told me to. They had a mission for me, so I had to go. And then….well they wanted me to stay away, they felt it wasn’t good us being together, and I think that they were right.”

“But….you are a Gentile. When did you join the Organisation?”

 

“Oh you silly man, I was a member all along, long before I met you. They just thought it would be good if we got together; for me to keep an eye on you. You were good, but a bit careless and they wanted me to mentor you, they were worried that you were becoming unreliable, I am not sure why, you were fine, at least then. Everything was arranged and planned; our meeting, the disappearance of your girlfriend…”

“But….”

“Sorry. I did like you, and the romance and sex was fun…but it was only temporary. We didn’t realise you would get so obsessed.”

“But we were a couple…I thought you loved me. Didn’t you miss me?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“So why now?”

“You have become dangerous and neglectful. We even sent that young woman in the library to become your lover, to steer you back. But you didn’t go for her, I am not sure why, she was just your type, more so than I ever was.”

 

I looked at her in bemusement, suddenly feeling very tired, too tired to move.

She looked at me as if she were a scientist studying something very peculiar, “we thought you would die in the explosion, that you would not have time to leave the station, but for the first time in your life you were bloody early. So I am just here to make sure.”

 

And then I noticed that the three people in the café, were being ushered out by the owner, and then I tried to get up out of my chair but couldn’t, my arms would not do what my brain was telling them to. I sat there helpless, knowing that I needed to escape,  and beginning to panic. I tried to call out before the last person had left the café, but all I could do was groan faintly.  The young man looked back at me, and for a moment I thought he would do or say something, but the owner pushed him out in the afternoon sunshine.

 

And then I was grabbed by the shoulders and pushed towards a back room, unable to save myself, just like luggage being pushed along by a porter. I was struggling for breath and I felt as if I was drunk. I had poisoned plenty of people in the past, so why I hadn’t I been more careful?

 

For a moment I managed to turn my head sightly, and Adele was stood there, looking at me, as if memorising my features, and then she turned away expressionless, as if I were already dead.

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