The Wallet Read online

  THE WALLET

  By

  Roger Rapel

  Copyright © Roger Rapel 2018

  Cover Copyright © Amy Parle 2018

  Published by Black Hawk

  (An Imprint of Ravenswood Publishing)

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher and/or author.

  Ravenswood Publishing

  1275 Baptist Chapel Rd.

  Autryville, NC 28318

  http://www.ravenswoodpublishing.com

  Email: [email protected]

  Paperback orders can be made through Createspace

  http://www.createspace.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN-13: 978-1724419293

  ISBN-10: 1724419293

  CHAPTER ONE

  Christopher told me the police officer sat listening as he relayed his story, but had a look of disbelief in his eyes. I can’t say I blame the police officer for his disbelief as the story unfolded. I had the same feeling when Christopher told me, but this is his story, I implore you to keep an open mind and don’t cast aside what I tell you. But I must warn you before you start reading there are some very dark moments, so don’t say you haven’t been warned.

  Let me first tell you about Christopher, he was American born and brought up in the suburbs of Mansfield Ohio. His early years had been spent at college studying business and management, which certainly stood him in good stead during in his working years.

  Christopher’s grandparents were both immigrants from Hungary; they had been married before they emigrated. They had paid for their passage, which had been arranged by some illegal organisation who promised the streets of America would be paved with gold. But they weren’t; so they had to work their fingers to the bone to make ends meet. They worked hard and made a living out of the ground growing and selling the produce they had grown on a small market stall; after saving enough money they bought a shop. When Christopher’s father was of age he took over the shop.

  Christopher’s father George worked hard in the shop, but the times were changing. He could see the big supermarkets coming; the small shop keepers were being squeezed out by cheaper produce in the big stores. The big shopping malls were also growing which attracted people as they could shop for everything under one roof.

  When Christopher was born, George had to bite the bullet and took a job in one of the big stores as a fruit and veg manager. He knew all about the produce which gave him the upper hand over others applying for the same position.

  George was determined to get Christopher through college and achieve a diploma in management, as it was now becoming a pre-requisite before anyone even got through the door for an interview to produce some kind of college qualification.

  Christopher’s early years were spent studying; finally he obtained his degree in warehouse management. He considered front of house management, but he was more the hands-on type of person like his father and grandfather before him, so he studied warehouse and logistical management.

  He had the normal type of college life mixing with girls and playing the field, but he was not looking for anything too strong, not yet anyhow.

  It was when he was at his first full time job as a junior warehouse manager he met Helga, she was a stunner. Helga worked in the finance department at the same warehouse; she had been the eye of most of the men, single or married she turned their heads.

  Christopher began dating Helga; it was a whirlwind romance with the normal relationship ups and downs, but in the main it was a solid courtship.

  Helga’s grandparents emigrated just before the Second World War. Her grandfather was from Austria where he was a scientist. He left Austria with his wife and children for America; they arrived in New York, but eventually settled in Cleveland Ohio where he worked on many projects for the American war machine. He had disliked the rise of Hitler and what he stood for. He could see what he was and where it would lead; so he was pleased that in some way he could provide some kind of influence in his downfall.

  Helga’s father married an Austrian woman and had three children including Helga. Helga worked hard and obtained a college degree in accountancy. She moved from job to job gaining experience as she went. Then she took a position as deputy head in the accounts dept. of a distribution warehouse the same one Christopher worked in. By this time she was in her late 20’s and was stunningly beautiful with natural blonde shoulder length hair and a figure that was full and rounded, not like the skinny models, more like the Munro look. She knew what she had and didn’t need to flaunt it; she attracted men wherever she went.

  It was whilst in this position she met Christopher, although he had been attracted to her he was not trying it-on like most of the men, all they wanted was an ego notch on the bedpost.

  Their courtship wasn’t long by any means and they eventually married. It was a fairy tale wedding; her father had inherited his father’s wealth from his hard work; so money was lavished at Helga and Christopher’s wedding; they also had a great honeymoon in Hawaii.

  Christopher continued as warehouse manager for a Cleveland based Distribution Company he was well thought of as a level headed member of staff who was destined for a senior position. This is why this story seems so far-fetched, as Christopher was not one to exaggerate or go off into tales off fantasy.

  Let me begin the story as Christopher told me, also what happened to me when I began to investigate his account; so grab a coffee and something to hold on to as I go through this, I will tell it as he told me.

  My background; you don’t need to know; maybe I will tell you later, just consider me an acquaintance of Christopher’s.

  The story:

  Christopher told me his car had broken down and was in the workshop being repaired, so he caught a bus to work. He should have checked the weather forecast, but he didn’t, as heavy rain and high winds were expected for at least three to four days starting later that day. He told me the sun was shining when he left home; all was good in his eyes. Helga was not well she was feeling nauseous; this had been the third morning she had spent time in the toilet being sick. It should have dawned on Christopher then, but it didn’t; Helga was pregnant.

  The forecasters weren’t wrong; as home time came the skies blackened as the thunder clouds rolled in on gale force winds, then the heavens opened with driving rain which was near horizontal being driven by the high winds that was sending dustbins hurtling down the road. People’s umbrellas were turning inside-out by the power of the wind. Those who were walking into the wind were bent nearly double battling against the ferocity of the storm, those with the wind behind them were being pushed along as they lent back to prevent being blown over. All kinds of debris filled the air from paper to wooden fence posts.

  Christopher went on to talk about the rain and wind; he had seen hurricanes in Florida and the east coast, this was just like it. The traffic signals were swinging in the wind threatening to fly off at any moment. Then he saw roofing shingles flying off adding to the other debris in the air.

  Christopher had to stay late to finish loading a lorry for an early morning delivery, so he turned down a lift home from the foreman, this turned out to be a big mistake; by no means the only big mistake that night. After finishing the loading he l
ooked out of the door. The rain had turned into a monsoon, there was no let up.

  There was no way he could do anything else other than brave the night and walk to the bus stop about a mile or so away. He tried to call Helga, but the telephone lines were down. He would have called for a taxi if the lines had been working. There was nothing for it, but to brave the elements.

  Christopher continued explaining, he was bent nearly double as the wind was driving the rain into his face, it was stinging just like needles pricking him. The wind chill factor reduced the temperature considerably. His coat wasn’t meant for this kind of rain, it was soaking wet; coupled with the wind chill factor he was shivering with the cold. He continued on battling against the wind and the driving rain. He was nearly exhausted as he reached the shopping area; although most shops were closed, if not closed they were in darkness as the electricity had been cut by falling power lines. This was like a scene from a disaster movie, power lines sparking as the supporting poles were blown over, roofs were being ripped off; cars were swerving to miss falling debris, some vehicles unable to miss the falling airborne missiles crashed or were struck by all manner of wreckage adding to the mayhem.

  In order to get a moments respite Christopher ducked under a flapping shop awning, he wasn’t the only one huddling there; a couple of others were trying to shelter from the cascading rain; although the awning gave limited protection from the storm.

  Just as he managed to squeeze under the awning a woman ran to a car which had come to pick her up.

  Christopher said ‘she was so lucky getting into a warm car. I was freezing cold and began stamping my feet and blowing into my cupped hands to try and warm up, but nothing I was doing was combating the wind chill. I continued to try and get warm. My feet were so cold they were like blocks of ice. I continued to stamp on the ground; my feet were squelching in my shoes. I still had another half mile to go to the bus stop.’

  After a breath of air and a drink of water he continued ‘I then he had an awful thought what if the buses weren’t running what if they had been grounded by the weather? Then I realised I hadn’t seen a bus go by for some time in either direction. Then my heart sank as I continued to stamp my feet. I was just about to brave the elements again as I stamped my feet one more time before setting off.’

  It was at that point that Christopher looked at me as he shook his head, I could see his eyes were bulging with fear. I looked at him, I was just about to speak, but he put his hand up as if to say wait.

  He continued, ‘I was just about to step out of the protection of the awning, when my foot stood on something. I looked down instinctively thinking it was some kind of fallen debris, but saw it was a wallet. I bent down and picked it up and found it to be a black fold over wallet. I opened it and saw it contained an address. It also contained money and a couple of credit cards in a woman’s name, Camilla Brown.’

  Christopher shook his head as tears began to well up in his eyes. Then he said ‘the local precinct police station was in the opposite direction to where I was going, but the address in the wallet was on my way home. So I decided to be a Good Samaritan and drop it off as I walked towards the bus stop.’

  With fear and a deep sadness in his eyes he told me, ‘in hind-sight I should have thrown it away, if I had, I wouldn’t be telling you this story.’ I could see the frightened look in his eyes as he shook his head in disbelief. It was a look of a lost soul, a soul seeking some kind of salvation. I had never seen such a saddened look of despair on anyone’s face before.

  Christopher continued as he told me that he trudged the street; every part of him was soaked, even his socks were drenched as the rain was leaving huge puddles and to make matters worse, cars were not slowing down as they drove through deep puddles on the road which sent sheets of water splashing over the people on the sidewalk. He was really miserable, also well and truly pissed off.

  ‘Eventually I came to the address in the wallet; 64, The Avenue, I could hardly make out the number on the doors because of the driving rain, so climbed the couple of steps to the one I thought was right, and it was number 64. I rang the bell; the door was opened by a very attractive woman. I explained to her my find and I was invited in.’ ‘Oh my goodness look at you, you’re soaking wet, please give me your coat,’ the woman said.

  Christopher continued ‘she was kind enough to put my coat around a clothes horse in front of a blazing fire to dry out. I saw the kitchen was lit by candles and together with the flames of the fire made it look like something from the old west.’ ‘Oh please have some soup, I’ve made some in a pot over the fire it’s nice and hot.’ Christopher explained to me that he accepted a steaming hot mug of soup which he held between both hands wrapping his fingers around it trying to get warm.

  Christopher then said ‘I looked at the mug of soup then blew over it before I tasted it, it was boiling hot, but good, although it was a flavour I hadn’t tasted before, but nonetheless it was warming and most welcome as it travelled down south heating me from the inside. Slowly I began to get the feeling of warmth returning to my core.’ He said to the woman ‘Oh that is nice and hot what is it?’ ‘It’s one of my mother’s secret recipes, I’m glad you like it.’

  Christopher said ‘I huddled around the fire trying to get warm, but the chill had got right into my bones, it was one of those chills that reached deep into the soul dragging you down. I was now shivering as I tried to get some circulation going. My host Camilla was busying herself trying to boil water over the open fire in a big saucepan.’ He again told me the kitchen was lit by candles which flickered as she walked by causing shadows to dance around as she moved.

  Christopher continued ‘I just wanted a hot shower or bath then curl up in bed and get warm next to Helga; oh how I had wished my car hadn’t broken down or I had accepted the lift home and gone in early to finish off the loading of the delivery lorry in the morning. But I hadn’t; I was now cold and in a strange house.’

  Anyway he went on; ‘I hadn’t accepted the lift and was now in some strange house, but I welcomed the respite from the driving rain.’ But then he said something that I wasn’t expecting. ‘I was strangely attracted to Camilla, I had always been faithful to Helga, but now I had a deep stirring in my groin as I looked at the attractive figure in front of me. Camilla looked at me in a strange way that seemed to excite me. I felt I wanted her; no I didn’t want her, I needed her, I wanted the warmth of her naked body next to me.’

  I wasn’t expecting that, it took me completely by surprise as he continued ‘not long after the second mug of soup I began to warm up, but the driving rain and the wind chill factor had taken its toll, I was feeling a bit light headed and woozy, I tried to stand, but the last thing I remembered was falling towards the floor.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next thing Christopher told me, ‘I woke up in bed naked, I tried to get out, but I was so weak I couldn’t.’ It was then he told me that he heard a distant scream from somewhere in the house it sounded like it came from downstairs; ‘I couldn’t exactly make out from where, but it sounded like a blood curdling scream, one of pain.’

  Christopher’s eyes were showing a strange sadness as he spoke. ‘I just lay there wondering how I got upstairs and who had undressed me, my memory had completely gone I had no recollection of what had happened to me. This wasn’t my bedroom, I wasn’t in hospital, so where was I; my mind was going around in circles as I tried to make some sense of where I was and what was I doing in this strange bed.’

  After another drink of water and the shaking of his head he continued ‘it was then I heard another blood curdling scream; where was I, what was happening, what was the screaming? I was so confused.’

  I looked at him as he told me the story; he looked frightened. I have never seen fear like the fear I saw in his eyes when he looked at me, the fear that said please help me.

  He continued; ‘I heard the creaking of the stairs, I watched as the door handle dropped, his heart was pounding, my eyes were dil
ated, my breath was heavy as my lungs tried to keep up with my heart beat. I watched as the door slowly opened, I couldn’t move as the sweat cascaded from my forehead into my eyes. Then things began to come back to me as I remembered the wallet and the woman as I fought to recall her name.’

  Christopher’s hands were shaking as he looked at me with his eyes bulging. ‘Then it came to me, I remembered her name, it was Camilla, at that instant she appeared from the open door carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread on. She asked him how he was feeling, and said ‘you had a turn last night and collapsed on the floor.’ ‘I was still confused and asked her where I was?’ Camilla was like a nurse as she tidied the bed and fluffed up my pillows she busied herself tidying the room.’ Christopher went on to say ‘she was like a mother hen fussing around me as she was encouraging me to get better and eat the soup.’

  Christopher continued saying he was apologising to her for the trouble he had caused her, but she would hear nothing of it as she fussed around him, ‘now then, get that soup down you it’s no trouble at all.’ ‘Then she left me to eat.’

  Christopher carried on; ‘I tried the soup it was good as I dipped the bread in; it tasted the same as I remembered the night before. It was nothing like I had ever tasted, but very nice and wholesome with nice tender pieces of meat.’

  Christopher looked at me as he shook his head, ‘I remember Camilla mentioning it was her mother’s secret recipe, I was slowly getting my memory back. I looked around the bedroom; it appeared to be nicely decorated with recent wallpaper, also a pattern that matched at the edges; someone had taken their time in hanging it. There was a wardrobe with a full length mirror and a chest of drawers with a stool tucked underneath. The curtains were drawn, but I could see the daylight through a chink where the two sides didn’t quite meet, although it was light I could still hear the wind and driving rain against the window.’