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Back The Double Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
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  2. 2
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  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
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  29. 29
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  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
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  37. 37
  38. 38
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  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
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  49. 49
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  63. Acknowledgements

His eye followed the path, nearly obliterated by the thickly falling snow, leading to the sculpture garden and out the other side. He’d never walked that far. Never felt the desire to explore the boundaries of the clinic. It wasn’t as if there was anywhere one could go. At some point he would come up against the boundary line, where there was a chest-high wooden fence. Easy to breach if he was of a mind to escape the clinic’s confines, though he’d been told upon arrival that such an attempt would set off an alarm. The day Ismail disappeared Vidor had seen the boy, looking furtive as he headed towards the entrance to the grove. He’d followed Ismail part way into the copse of dark firs before turning back, having lost interest in whatever intrigue might be at play. Possibly, he’d had an assignation with the English girl. Later, when questioned, he hadn’t mentioned it, as it seemed of little account.

Perhaps, if Vidor had ventured a bit further, Ismail might still be alive. He could have shouted something, Stay back! Save him from that seductive force, l’appel du vide, that he knew only too well. It’s why he chose to keep well inside the clinic’s inner boundary, safe on solid ground. Once, as a cocky young lad, he’d vowed to climb to the very top of the Eiffel Tower, only to be paralysed by the height and the force of the wind buffeting the struts. Far below, the city called out to him. How easy it would have been to launch himself into that space, and to feel – for one glorious moment – the joy of Icarus aiming for the sun, before the loss of his wings and the final plunge to earth.

Hunching his shoulders against the wind and the sting of snow on his face, Vidor turned in the direction of his chalet. It would be quieter now with Ismail gone. The two officers must still be on the property, waiting out the storm. He could have told them he’d seen Ismail head into the dark copse of fir trees, but it seemed of no consequence now.

The boy was dead, and all the questioning in the world wouldn’t bring him back.

32

Paris, France
November 1968