Every Touch (39 page)

   “Please, Denny,” Laila pleaded, “please calm down.  Let me explain.”  Despite her words, she had no idea what she would say.

   He looked down at his naked body.  “Where are my clothes?”

   Laila had ironed all the clothing Kelly had brought for him while Denny was unconscious, hanging them in the wardrobe alongside hers.  She pointed and he backed towards it, keeping his frightened gaze on her and opening the doors when he reached it.

   “These aren’t mine,” he said, looking inside.

   “They’re for you,” she said, “you can wear them.”  She began to rise from the bed.

   “Don’t come near me,” he warned.

   She sank back down, not wanting to alarm him even more, frantically trying to think what to do.

   He had pulled a pair of jeans from a hanger and was putting them on, darting frequent wary glances in her direction.  They settled on his hips when he had fastened them, too big for his slim waist.  He grabbed a red t-shirt and pulled it on over his head.  His eyes dropped to the bottom of the wardrobe.

   “Where are my shoes?”

   “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t have any.” 

   Jack had different sized feet to Denny and she had planned to go out and buy him something when he was awake.  When she thought she’d have all the time in the world. 

   He stared at her.  “Where are the shoes I had on last night?  Or whenever you did whatever you’ve done to me.”

   “I...” she didn’t know how to answer.  Then she had an idea.  “Let me call Trish,” she said, “and she can come over and explain everything.”

   He frowned.  “You know my sister?”

   “Yes.  Please, just let me call her.”  She reached for the phone next to her.

   “No,” he said, edging closer to her as if she was a rabid dog, “I’ll do it.”  He held out his hand and she passed the phone to him.  He immediately backed away again.  Dialling, he held the phone to his ear and looked at her as he waited.  Then he frowned.  “There’s something wrong with this phone,” he said, “it won’t connect me.”

   “She must have changed her number,” Laila muttered to herself.  “Let me dial,” she said, “then it will go through.” 

   She held out her hand for the phone, but he clutched it to his chest.  “No,” he said, “I’m calling the police.”

   “No!” she said, panicking, “you can’t.”

   He narrowed his eyes and pressed a button three times.  “Police,” he said into the phone.  “My name is Dennis Carpenter and I’m at five six eight Hill Street, flat twelve.  There’s a woman in my flat, I think she drugged me.  She had me on some kind of intravenous drip.... No.... I don’t know her, but I woke up with her here and I think she’s dangerous.  I need the police here now... No, I don’t think so... I will... Thank you.”  He hung up.  “They’re on their way,” he said.

   Laila thought quickly.  She would have no trouble proving she lived in the flat, but how was she going to explain Denny?  Would the police really believe she had drugged him

   “Could I get dressed?” she said.

   He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of her jeans and a blue long sleeved top, throwing them to her on the bed. 

   “Um, I need underwear,” she said, pointing to the chest of drawers.  “Top drawer.”

   He moved to the drawers, still watching her, and pulled open the top one, rummaging inside and withdrawing panties and then a bra which he also threw to her.

   “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

   She began to take off her nightdress, pulling it over her head.  When she lowered her arms she saw he had turned away so he didn’t see her.  His respect for her, even when he thought she was dangerous, tugged at her heart.

   “Please let me explain what’s going on,” she said as she dressed.

   “Go ahead.” 

   His tone suggested he didn’t think she could and, as she thought about it, she knew he was right.   He was looking out the door to the living room, an expression of confusion on his face.

   She finished dressing.  “It’s okay,” she said, “I’m dressed now.  Thank you.”

   He looked back at her, his expression softening for an instant before he looked back at the living room.

   “Where’s all my furniture?” he said.

   “You... you were in a coma.”  That was true, at least.  Kind of.  “That’s why you had the drip and catheter.”

   He looked back at her.  “Why was I in a coma?”

   “You were attacked.  Injured.”  Also semi-true.

   He frowned and raised a hand to his head.  “I don’t have any injuries.”

   She was at a loss.  She didn’t want to lie to him and couldn’t think of anything that would explain the situation anyway.  And yet she couldn’t tell him the truth, he would think she was insane.  She needed Trish.  Denny would listen to his sister.

   “Please let me call your sister,” she said, “then we can explain everything.”

   “Why can’t you explain now?”

   “Because you wouldn’t believe me.”

   “That’s convenient.”

   “It’s...” 

   She was interrupted by the sound of the intercom buzzer.

   “Don’t move,” he warned as he walked into the living room.

   She listened as he had a brief discussion and then reappeared at the bedroom door. 

   “The police are on their way up,” he said, “you can try and make them believe you, but they won’t.  You picked the wrong person to do whatever you’ve done to me.  I work at the police station.  I’ll probably know whoever is on their way up.”

   Laila froze.  She hadn’t thought of that.  What if he was right?  What if it was someone he had known?  She had just about worked out what she was going to say about Denny’s accusations, but he would be impossible to explain away if someone recognised him.  A doppelganger to a dead man?  In his flat? 

   A sudden knock on the front door made her jump.  Denny cast one more look at her then disappeared into the living room.  She climbed off the bed as she heard the door open and found her shoes, stepping into them before following Denny through.

   Neither the man nor the woman in police uniforms standing just inside the door and talking to Denny were looking shocked at his presence, so she was hopeful she had at least dodged a bullet on that front.  They both looked at her as she walked out of the bedroom and Denny turned to her.  The woman came towards her.

   “Ma’am,” she said, “I’m Officer Clarke and this is Officer Brandon.  Mr Carpenter has informed us that you may have drugged him and held him captive here in his flat.”

   Laila glanced at Denny.  “Yes, I know.”  She took a breath and plunged into her hastily prepared plan.  “My name is Laila Smith.  I can show you my driver’s licence?”  She indicated her bag which was on the kitchen counter.  Officer Clarke nodded and she went to get her purse, handing her the licence.  “As you can see, I live here.”

   The police woman studied it and nodded, handing it back. 

   Denny’s expression turned to shock.

   “I’m so sorry you were called,” Laila went on, trying to pour as much sincerity as she could into her voice.  “My boyfriend has had a medical condition since he sustained a head injury a year ago where he gets confused on occasion and forgets things, people.  He’s usually okay after a few minutes, but he woke up like this and it seems to be lasting longer this time.”

   “No!” Denny said.  “She’s lying!  You can’t believe her.”

   Laila looked at him, wishing desperately there was any other way to do this.  “Ask him what year it is,” she said.

   Officer Clarke turned to look at him.  “Mr Carpenter, what year is it?”

   Denny looked from her to Laila.  Fear and doubt passed across his face.  “It’s... it’s 2009,” he said quietly.

   The policewoman turned back to Laila.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “Would you like us to do anything?  Are you safe?”

   Denny’s anxious gaze was darting between the two police officers and Laila.  “Isn’t it?” he said.

   Laila wiped at a tear sliding down her cheek as she looked at him.  “Yes,” she said, returning her attention to Clarke, “We’ll be fine, thank you.  He’s not dangerous.  He’s just confused.  I’ll make an appointment with his doctor.”

   The policewoman nodded.  “If you’re sure you’re okay?”

   She smiled.  “I’m sure.”

   Denny didn’t move from the spot where he was standing as they left.  Laila closed the door and turned to look at him.  He was staring at the floor.  Her arms itched to hold him.  She hugged herself instead.

   “What year is it?” he said, his eyes still down.

   “2014.”

   “Was what you told them true?”

   Laila hesitated, unsure what to do.  He raised his head to look at her.

   “No,” she said, “it wasn’t.”

   “Then what is?” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air and walking to the window.  “What is happening to me?”

   She looked at him as he stared out, running the fingers of one hand through his hair.  She had dreamed so many times over the past four days what it would be like when he woke and every time it was the happiest moment of her life.  Every time, he took her into his arms and she gazed into the blue eyes she’d never looked into and he told her with the voice she’d never heard that he loved her. 

   She’d never imagined this nightmare.

   “I can tell you the truth,” she said, “but you won’t believe me.”

   He turned round.  “It can’t be worse than not knowing,” he said. 

   “Okay,” she said, smiling, “but first, I really need the bathroom.  Are you hungry?  Take anything you want from the fridge.”

   He nodded.  “Thank you.”

   She walked through the bedroom to the bathroom and closed the door, leaning her head against it.  At least she’d been able to get rid of the police, but she had no idea what was going to happen now.  There was no way Denny would believe what she had to tell him.  She wished Trish were here.  She would tell him the same thing as Laila, but at least he trusted her.  Denny had no idea who Laila was. 

   Despair began to take hold.  What if he never remembered her?  With everything they’d done so they could be together, what if she lost him anyway?  The tears that had been threatening since Denny woke began to roll down her face and she brushed them away angrily.  There was no time for her to fall apart now.  That luxury would have to wait.

   She did what she had come to do and freshened herself up a little, then headed back, feeling as ready as she was going to get to tell Denny what had been happening to him for the past five years.

   When she reached the living room, he was gone.

Trish’s mobile phone number went straight to voicemail. Laila left a frantic message then, in desperation, called her landline number.  She recognised Trish’s husband John’s voice when he answered.

   “Hello, is Mrs Mason there please?”  Please be in, Trish, please.

   “I’m sorry, she’s not here.  Would you like to leave a message?”

   “Uh, no, thank you.  I’ll try again later.” 

   She hung up. 

   This was bad.  Really bad.  Denny had raided her bag while she was in the bathroom and taken her car key.  A quick look out the bathroom window down to the building parking area revealed her car was missing.  How could she have been so stupid as to leave him on his own?  She was almost sure he would try to find his sister and she didn’t want to think what would happen if he went to Trish’s house and John and Jay were there.  And she was desperately worried about Denny.  He was on his own in a world that he’d been away from for almost five years. 

   He didn’t even have any shoes.

   Kelly was working so Laila knew her phone would be off, but she tried anyway, without luck. 

   She looked at the door, wracked with indecision.  Should she stay in case he came back or should she go and try to find him?  She wanted to stay, but she realised that was what the old Laila would have done.  The man she loved needed her and she wasn’t going to let him down. 

   Grabbing her bag, she ran out the door.

   It took Laila ten minutes to get to the taxi rank where she knew she would find a cab.  It was another fifteen for them to reach Trish’s house.  Neither her car nor Denny were anywhere in sight.  Trish’s car wasn’t in the driveway either.  Maybe she’d got Laila’s message and headed him off.  Nevertheless, Laila waited in the taxi outside the house in case he showed up. 

   She wondered where else he would go.  He must have had friends before he died, but she didn’t know who they were, let alone where they lived.  The truth was she had no idea where he would go.  After waiting twenty minutes, she knew she must have either missed him or he wasn’t coming.  Another call to Trish still went to voicemail.  Frustrated with herself and not knowing what else to do, she instructed the driver to take her home.

   Back at the flats, she was shocked and overjoyed to see her car parked amongst the vehicles of her neighbours in the car park next to the building.  She ran inside, impatiently waiting for the lift then urging it to go faster on the way up, wishing she had just run up the stairs.