Days 88 and 89

Writing exercise – Things are not what they seem

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Include the elements, who does this person think they are, who are they really, what are they running from or to, and what just happened they cannot undo.

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I knew her simply as Emma, the enigmatic woman who lived in Apartment 772, five doors up from me. Sometimes she would be alone, sometimes with a man whom I assumed was her husband. They were quiet and unassuming and had lived in the block for about a year.

Amonth the others on our floor, there were the busybodies, the people who had more time than sense and spent their time talking about matters they generally knew nothing about. Emma was one of those subjects.

To them, she was not married, the man was really two who looked the same, possibly brothers, and that arguments had been heard, up the stairs, and from within the apartment. I simply told them it was none of their business.

Each morning, I would leave for work at the same time. Emma was more erratic but would also leave for work about the same time. I took the bus from the stop outside the building; she took a bus from the other side in the opposite direction.

Each evening, I would come home on the bus, stopping on the other side of the street. Not so often, Emma would come home in a car, driven by the man she was seen with in the building. She would get out, and he would drive off, only to return a half hour later on foot.

No, I wasn’t a stalker; she had simply piqued my interest.

…

This morning was different.

I came down to join the others at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that was three minutes late. i was running late.

Emma was on the other side of the road, standing next to the shelter, but there was something else. A case, not a large one, not a small one, but one just enough for her to pack enough for a free days away.

This sent my deductive mind into overdrive.

IT was cold but the sun was out, and she was holding rather than wearing her red coat with the fur collar. She was not wearing her usual white blouse and black pants, but a summery yellow dress with flowers on it, a yellow ribbon in her hair, and instead of practical flat heeled shoes she was earing high heels. It completely transformed her into someone else.

My assumption that she was an office clerk or shop salesperson was shattered. Perhaps she was something else entirely. Had my bus been on time, I would have missed this transformation. Perhaps she was emulating the epitome of a 1950s housewife.

She was certainly nothing like the type of woman that would be associated with the man who brought her home. He was rough, unkempt, perhaps a factory worker or something else. My mind briefly went to a dark place and back again. No, it was not possible.

Of course, all of this speculation could be resolved in an instant if only I had the courage to talk to her, and now that I had seen her in this guise, that might never happen. She was far too nice for the likes of me.

I;d seen her glance nervously over the road, as if she was looking for the man in the car, the man we saw with her in the corridors of our building. Did he bring her home last night? Was she running away from him? It would explain the nervous glances. Those nervous glances extended to the direction the bus came from, and she was willing it to arrive so she could get away.

If he did come out and saw her trying to escape, would I try to intervene and save her? No. I was too much of a coward to do that. Those furtive and apprehensive looks confirmed my suspicion that she was leaving. He was not her type, and maybe was once, but not now. Not this version of her.

Had they argued? Had it got violent? I hadn’t heard anything, but then I never did. I went to bed early so that I was fresh for the next day. What could have happened that precipitated this? If she was trying to get away, would she come back?

…

My attention was diverted for a moment on a pair of badly behaving school children. when I looked back, I could see the stricken look on her face, staring at the entrance to the building. I turned around and saw the man, quickly looking up and down the street, then over the road.

His manner told me he had seen her, and he was almost running towards her.

I looked up the road and the bus wasn’t coming. She had picked up the suitcase but in the motion of doing that she had dropped her coat, and buy the time she picked it up he was there. He grabbed her by the arms and was yelling, not too loudly, at her.

I couldn’t understand the language he was speaking.

She looked devastated and didn’t put up any resistance. He was trying to take her case and she wouldn’t let him. Others at the bus stop were moving away, not wanting to get involved.

I made a decision. it might not be the right one, it might be none of my business, but to me it looked like he was hurting her.

I crossed the road and stepped up to them.

He stopped and glared at me. “You want to go away, little man.” Full of himself and arrogant. I knew then what he was. Italian, recently arrived, with halting English. There were a few near where I worked, men who were recently arrived, looking for a new life.

I pulled out my badge and showed it to him. “You might want to rethink that, sir.” He stepped back slightly. My detective’s badge carried only so much weight, and people like him generally had no respect for the law.

I looked at her. “Are you alright? Is this man bothering you?”

She looked at me, trying to remember where she had seen me. It was certainly not as a policeman. I rarely let anyone know who or what I was.

Over the other side of the road, my bus came and went. Damn.

“Yes,” she said. “You are from apartments. A policeman. Yes, this man is annoying me.
I wish to go to my sisters.”

“And this man?”

“Comes from home, thinks we are still,” she hesitated, looking for a word, “friends. That is home, not here. He is terrible man at home, why I leave. I do not wish to see him, now or ever again.”

“OK.” I turned back to him. “Leave now, sir. She does not want to see you.”

“Not true. This is wife, my woman, she is mine, do what I tell her!”

She came and stood beside me. “Was married, divorced now. I am not his.”

He took a step towards me and tried to push me aside to get to her, as she moved backwards to stand behind me. Perhaps I acted on instinct, perhaps it was the fact he was going to shove me, but I grabbed his arm, twisted him to one side, and when he tried to resist, I levered him onto the ground, pinning his arms behind him.

A patrol car pulled up just as he hit the ground, and two uniformed officers jumped out, one with a hand on his gun. I held up my badge and said, “This man was trying to take this woman away forcefully, I told him to stop after identifying myself as a police officer, and when he didn’t, I had to restrain him.

The bus arrived and pulled in front of the police car. The two policemen had the man in custody and were holding him.

She looked at the very angry man, and at the bus. “May I catch bus. My sister is waiting for my arrival.”

“You want to prefer charges against this man?” I asked.

“No. I just want to leave. Please.”

I looked at the two officers. “Go. We’ll detain this man for a few minutes. Give him a warning.”

“Thank you.” She picked up her case and walked over to the bus. She took one last look back, and then she was gone.

I had no doubt I wouldn’t see her again.

They gave him a warming and then let him go, waiting until he had walked off. He gave the nastiest of looks, and I knew my business wasn’t done with him. He didn’t look the sort who would let it go.

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©  Charles Heath  2025