I watched the two of them leave the building and then, as there seemed to be no sign of my mystery postman, I turned and took the elevator back up to the top part of the building. I trudged back down the corridor and let myself into my apartment, bending to retrieve the piece of paper from the kitchen floor and moving to the table with it. It was a plain, white sheet of A4 paper, folded once. I sat down and unfolded it. Then I sat and stared for some time. As with the photos, the words had been written in neat capitals so that it was impossible to make out any handwriting style. The message was in Latin but, being another language in which I seem to be fluent, I could understand it perfectly. How very much I wished that I had caught up with whoever had delivered this note. The words read:
Facilis Descensus Averno:
Noctes Atque Dies Patet Atri Ianua Ditsis.
I recognised the phrase from Virgil’s Aeneid. Translated into English, it reads:
The gates of Hell are open night and day;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way.
Beneath the quote was another phrase, also in Latin, the translation of which reads:
The Ninth Circle can’t hide you for ever.
I dropped the note on the table, put my head in my hands and slumped forward in my seat, my whole body shaking with dread. This wasn’t fair!
So there it is… I was beginning seriously to consider the possibility that I was going mad. There was fear again, always fear. My sleep that night was restless — filled with Nazi soldiers, murdered Jews and red, shining circles of blood in which angels were bound. These nightmares woke me in the middle of the night and I went into the bathroom to splash cold water onto my sweating face and shoulders. I was leaning over the sink when I heard the noise behind me — the unmistakably powerful sound of roaring flames. When I slowly straightened up, cool water still running down my skin, I could see two people in the mirrored reflection of the bathroom behind me. One was the burning man I had dreamed about before. The other was the mystery woman from the alley. And they were both on fire. Neither one of them moved. They simply stood there. Staring at me. While great orange and white flames danced about their bodies.
Of course, I only gazed into the mirror for a moment before spinning round with a yell of horror. But there was nothing there when I turned. Just the sound of my own frightened breathing as the cool drops of water burned on my hot skin, splashing down onto the cold tiles. Perhaps I had a slight fever. Perhaps I was simply still half asleep. But I was beginning to genuinely fear for my sanity. My whole existence began to seem surreal to me. Why on earth hadn’t I gone to the police when I first woke up here? Why didn’t I go now? What was it, hidden at the back of my mind, that kept me from doing so? I couldn’t go to the police. I couldn’t do that. But although I knew this for the undeniable fact that it was… I couldn’t remember the reason why. And it is that ignorance that scares me more than anything else.
9th October
If only I could have known that night that I was to find the answers to those questions a mere three days later… I thank God that I now know the whole truth about my past, for at least now I don’t have to live with the doubts. Just the sadness. My past was always going to be a sad one, wasn’t it? How could it possibly ever have been anything else? But at least now I know. I know it all.
I decided to count the money — that was how it began. I decided to count the money I had hidden away so that I might know exactly how much was there. It was unsafe to keep such a large amount in the apartment and I was considering opening other bank accounts to distribute the cash. So I retrieved the sack from under the floorboards and, making sure that the door was locked and the blinds were drawn, I emptied the money out onto the floor and started to count it. And then I found something in among the bundles of notes that shouldn’t have been there. It was a key. A safety deposit box key. The writing engraved on its face showed that it was from a Hungarian bank here in Budapest, deposit box number 328.
I sat back on the floor and gazed at the key in my hand for a while. I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive at the sight of it. After all, if I was content to have a hundred thousand pounds sitting on my kitchen table in my apartment, then what on earth had I deemed so important that it must be hidden away in a vault?
I went straight into Budapest on the metro with the intention of stopping at the bank, but by the time I got there it had closed for the day. So I went first thing this morning, after a restless night of anticipation and unease. It was one of the larger banks in a busy part of the city. When I got to the entrance and saw that the doors were open, I hesitated. There could be any one of a number of terrible revelations waiting for me inside that building. Perhaps it would be better not to know? The anonymous note was going round and round my mind. What was the Ninth Circle? The dying child had passed on the mystery woman’s statement that the Ninth Circle had ‘ taken everything from me ’. The anonymous letter deliverer had written that the Ninth Circle would not hide me much longer. And Antaeus, the murderous giant of ancient Greek mythology, was the gatekeeper to the Ninth Circle of Hell itself… But then perhaps, after all, there was no bad news waiting for me in the bank. Perhaps the deposit box would just give me answers, maybe even tell me where my family were…
With an effort, I emptied my mind. I detached myself from the scene so that it was some other man, some stranger, who went and asked to visit his vault. I was shown to box 328 and left alone there. My hands did not tremble as I turned the key in the lock and drew out the slim, harmless looking drawer. I sat down at the table, removed the lid and ran my gaze over everything in the box. Pain twisted inside me as I realised the truth — the truth that had been eluding me for so long and was now all here in this little box, unable to hide from me any longer.
There was no money. No weapons, no ominous, suspicious objects as I had been half afraid that there might be. Instead, there were documents and papers and a letter. It hurt me, what was inside. First I saw the marriage certificate. Then the birth certificate. And my heart lifted. But then I saw the death certificates. There was one for a Nicola Antaeus, aged thirty. And a second for Luke Antaeus, aged four. Their names were unfamiliar to me. And yet I was listed on both as the next of kin. Husband of Nicola Antaeus… father of Luke Antaeus…
‘No,’ I said, staring at the two innocent pieces of paper.
This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t fair at all!
‘No!’ I said again, thumping my fist on the table.
Cause of death… car crash… London…
I rummaged around for something else in the box. Something that might take the sting out of the two death certificates lying on the table before me — as if anything could. But there was nothing to take comfort in here. I uncovered a letter I’d written to an aunt that had never been mailed. I realised why when I found a solicitor’s letter informing me of my aunt’s death and the fact that she had left all her wealth to me. That explained the money hidden under my floorboards, anyway…
I stared at the letter until black spots winked across the page. I shook my head, pinched the bridge of my nose, tried again. My heart sank as I read the opening line: ‘ As the only relation I have left, I’m just writing to let you know that I’m leaving London… ’ My only relation? Only one? Surely not. Surely there must be someone else left? ‘ I can’t stop thinking about Nicky and Luke… I can’t stop seeing them… I’m moving to Budapest to concentrate on my writing
… I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to talk to anyone… I don’t know when I’ll be back… ’