“Calm down, Mikhail. There must be an explanation.”

— “Did you know?” he shouted. “Did she inform you of her plan, and you hid it from me?”

— “Mikha, once again, I’m asking you to calm down! Because what you’re saying makes no sense! First, I know nothing, and second, you can’t just claim that she left you.”

— “I don’t understand how she could abandon her home, her husband, like this.”

— “Mikha! Maybe she went out to buy something for breakfast… or to run a quick errand! Have you called her?”

— “I’m telling you, she ran away. She left her phone at home, along with her bag.”

— “Seriously?! And don’t you think it would be strange for her to leave behind all her important things if she decided to leave? Have you checked every room in your mansion?”

Mikhail wiped the sweat from his forehead. He sat back on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath to regain a semblance of calm and self-control, which had been slipping away for the past few minutes.

— “Every room, Ed. Over and over.”

— “And her suitcases? Did she take them?”

— “It’s odd, indeed,” he said, getting up and heading toward his closet. “All her toiletries seem untouched. Her set of suitcases hasn’t moved either. It’s still stored in the closet.”

— “See? I’m convinced there’s a rational explanation for all this. She’s probably stuck outside your door with croissants in her hands.”

— “The door is still locked from the inside… I don’t understand.” Édouard laughed.

— “You’re the one refusing to understand. Can’t you see that they couldn’t have gone anywhere? I always told you that one day you’d find a corpse in the maze of your apartment, it’s so massive. Sandrine is probably somewhere with Tony in your royal duplex, getting some fresh air.”

— “Getting some fresh air! Of course. I didn’t check the rooftop.” He ran towards the stairs to head up there.

— “There you go! Give them my regards. I have to go. I need to find which of my windows I left open to close it. There’s such a racket here on my street. Probably due to a protest. It’s incredibly noisy.”

Édouard’s last comment intrigued Mikhail, who couldn’t help but see a similarity with what was happening in his Parisian neighborhood. But he hung up, eager to reach the rooftop. The access to the building’s large shared terrace was through a small private vestibule behind the long dining room. The glass door leading outside had indeed been left open. They must be outside.

As he was about to push open the doors, an unusual smell captured his attention. The room smelled of tobacco. No one in the house smoked. Sandrine, like him, had completely given up cigarettes and alcohol. In fact, he had since become an advocate against tobacco, promoting the importance of taking care of one’s health and engaging in physical activity. He only drank champagne on special occasions.

He carefully inspected his surroundings and discovered, next to the chair in the corner, an old ashtray of Sandrine’s holding a partially smoked cigar. Judging by its state and the lingering smell, it was clear its owner had smoked it in the room a few hours earlier. The quality of the cigar indicated the opulence of the smoker.

His blood boiled. He immediately thought of the unexpected guest from the night before. He hadn’t bothered to ask Sandrine who had attended the birthday dinner, assuming it was unnecessary. Now, his thoughts clashed inside him, haunted by a consuming desire to know who the wealthy intruder had been in his home in his absence. It was obvious that this time, it couldn’t have been the priest or the pastor. “They must be on the terrace,” Mikhail thought.

He opened the glass door to the terrace, ready to confront.

************

Mikhail leapt onto the massive wooden floor of the rooftop, like an animal in pursuit of its prey. The outdoor heat of that warm summer morning contrasted with the coolness of the small vestibule. The noise of the commotion outside had grown louder, invading his eardrums. He paid it no mind, his gaze surveying the various corners of the splendid rooftop.

It was one of the most sought-after in the capital. It offered an unobstructed view of the City of Light from its fifth floor. Its pergola covered in hydrangea vines made it feel like a lush garden in the heart of the city. Mikhail had private access to it from his apartment. Only his two neighbors on the top floor shared access to this spot with him.

The jacuzzi was uncovered, which suggested it had been used recently. But there was no trace of Sandrine or Tony. He quickly scoured the terrace’s two hundred square meters, but found no sign of life, nor any clues to suggest they had been there.

A sense of dread gripped Mikhail’s heart once more. He had searched the house from every angle without finding them. He frantically wiped his sweat-covered forehead again and leaned against the railing. He glanced over it, briefly wondering if Sandrine or Tony had somehow crossed over it and fallen to the ground. He didn’t truly believe such a possibility. But his mind was just fiercely in need of answers, however absurd they might be.

However, what he witnessed troubled him. A number of people were running in all directions. “Is there a marathon this morning? Or an impromptu protest?” he thought. The panoramic perspective his rooftop offered over the neighborhood allowed him a better view of the traffic around his building. The collision of the two cars below was only one among a dozen others. Police and firefighters were working frantically, appearing three times as numerous as earlier. For a moment, Mikhail forgot his distress, stunned by this unusual sight.

— “It’s truly insane, this morning racket!” Mikhail jumped and almost stumbled as he turned around.

— “Oh, sorry, dear neighbor. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

— “No! Don’t be, Mr. Begler. I just didn’t hear you…”

— “I can imagine, Mikhail. With all this noise, it’s hard to hear anything clearly. And to think I wanted to enjoy the jacuzzi in peace. Have you seen all these accidents down there?” Mikhail nodded in agreement, his gaze shifting back to the traffic around the building. Mr. Begler came closer to him and did the same. With his bath towel, he was constantly wiping his bare, sweat-covered chest.

— “I’ll tell you, Mikhail. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for sixty-two years, and I’ve never seen anything like it!”

— “It’s indeed a strange sight.”

— “But I know what it is. I do.”

— “Really?”

This text is an extract from the book “THEY ARE LEFT” written by Teddy NGBANDA.

We invite you to read the following article “At the sight of Tony: a desperate quest in chaos“.  

The mysterious disappearance. The mysterious disappearance.

The mysterious disappearance. The mysterious disappearance. The mysterious disappearance.