Schizophrenia
A Novel by Asmaa Nada
Chapter 4
She walked out, her steps swaying softly from side to side as she dragged the suitcase behind her along the floor. Her presence alone forced every man—and even the women—around her to turn their heads, following her with curious eyes, wondering if she was a movie star walking without her bodyguards. But the absence of cameras made that assumption false. She smiled, a perfectly practiced smile, at the man in his forties holding a bouquet of fresh white roses. She took them gently from him and whispered,
“Don’t say you’ve been waiting long, my love.”
“Oh, Nairoz,” he replied with a grin, “I’d wait a lifetime if you asked me to.”
Her laughter echoed across the airport lounge, filling the space with a sound that turned heads again. She placed one hand on his arm and held the roses in the other. He took her suitcase from her with a tender smile, his eyes never leaving her lips as she whispered soft words of affection—words he believed to be real—until they stepped out of the airport and into a waiting limousine.
Elsewhere, inside a private hospital, a woman in her fifties sat outside the intensive care unit. No one from Mr. Daniel’s family had shown up, not even after she called his sister, who only asked whether her brother had finally divorced his wife or not. The woman rose to her feet as the doctor stepped out of the room.
“Is he going to be okay? I mean… he’ll live, right?”
“Yes,” the doctor nodded. “It was a mild heart attack. He’ll be stable in twenty-four hours, then we can move him to a regular room.”
“Alright. I’ll go home to check on the kids—I left them with the nanny. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“No one from his family is here?” the doctor asked.
“No. As long as he’s not dead, no one’s coming,” she replied, leaving the doctor staring after her in disbelief before walking out of the hospital.
In front of a modern house inside a gated luxury community, the limousine stopped. A servant hurried out from one of the nearby mansions, opening the car door for the owner of the house. The man stepped out, buttoning his suit jacket as he walked around the car to open the other door—for Nairoz, or rather, Maggie. He motioned for the servant to take the suitcase from the trunk. She clung to his arm, gazing at the house with a soft sigh.
“What did you do when you woke up and didn’t find me that day I left you at the restaurant?”
“Oh, that was a painful day,” he said. “I spent a week replaying every word we’d ever said, just trying to figure out why you vanished without even saying goodbye.”
“And what did you figure out?”
“That I was wrong to try to get close before you were ready to trust me. I should’ve waited until you were stable, emotionally. Anyway, tell me—what’s going on with your husband? Still refusing to divorce you unless you give up your share?”
“Still, yes. But don’t worry, soon he’ll sign the papers—willingly.”
“I don’t get it, explain.”
“Oh, Rick, not now. I just got off a flight and I’m exhausted.”
“Alright,” he smiled. “Lunch together, or do you want to nap first?”
“Mmm… no, I’m happy. Not sleepy at all. Let’s sit by the pool for a bit, have something light to eat, and talk. Did you manage to fix that issue at work?”
“Yes, but only on one condition—no Maggie while you’re here.”
“Actually, I’ll be going back to the state… tonight. I need to visit my dear husband in the hospital.”
“What? The hospital? What happened to him? And you’re leaving again?”
“I’ll change first, and you’ll prepare something light yourself, sweetheart. Then I’ll tell you everything, and you’ll tell me too.”
He smiled as she disappeared into the house. He loved both sides of her—so much that even her mother didn’t know Elise and Maggie had both existed since that day. Only he knew which one was the real person and which was born from pain—the pain of betrayal, of losing safety, of losing herself. He had been there that night, when the masked man left with her father. He ran inside to find the girl curled in a corner, her clothes torn, crying in terror, blood staining the bed and part of her clothes.
Memories flooded his mind as vividly as if he were reliving them. He saw his young friend huddled by the wall, that brave little girl who once feared nothing, now trembling like a drenched kitten. He approached slowly, reaching out a hand toward her. She screamed,
“No! Stop! It hurts! Daddy, please, make him stop! Why are you just standing there? Daddy, he’s hurting me!”
“Calm down, Nairoz,” he whispered softly. “He’s gone. It’s over.”
“Who are you? I’m Maggie, not Nairoz. The monster’s gone now—he took Daddy with him. But why won’t Mommy wake up? Did he kill her?”
Eric turned to look at Nairoz’s mother lying motionless on the couch. He pressed two fingers against her neck, searching for a pulse. Then he looked back at the girl.
“She’s just sleeping. Don’t be scared. We need to take her to the doctor.”
Just then, her father’s voice thundered through the doorway: “Nairoz! Forget what happened! It was nothing—just a little scratch, you’ll heal. Look, the man gave me a lot of money! I’ll buy you so many toys!”
Eric’s blood boiled at the sight of that man—heartless, drunk, uncaring of the child whose life had just been shattered. When the father stepped closer and barked,
“And you—get out! Go back to your father’s house, and don’t you dare open your mouth about this!”
Eric lunged at him with all his strength. The man was older, but Eric was athletic and fast, and the father was unsteady from the alcohol. They traded blows, a furious struggle, until the man stumbled and fell—blood spreading beneath him from several stab wounds to his back. Eric froze, shaking, then looked at the girl standing there, her face blank, emotionless, the knife dripping in her small hand.
“Alright,” he said carefully, “Nairoz—or Maggie, whichever you are—give me the knife. We need to think how to get rid of him before your mom wakes up.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then said calmly, “We’ll put him in the car, pour alcohol all over, then push it off the cliff. You can drive, right?”
He stared at her, stunned. “Who are you? Where’s my little Nairoz? Where did these ideas come from?”
“I’m Nairoz. I saw it in a movie. And anyway, he deserved it. He tied me down and watched while that man hurt me. He said next time it won’t hurt, that we’ll make lots of money. I couldn’t let that happen again. He had to die.”
“Alright,” Eric said quietly. “Then let’s do it before your mom wakes up.”
“Here,” she said, handing him gloves and a raincoat.
“But it’s not raining.”
“So your clothes don’t get bloody when you take them off.”
“Right… you sure you saw that in a movie, Nairoz?”
He slipped on the coat and gloves, lifted the man’s body, and carried it to the car. He placed it in the driver’s seat, sat over it to steer, while Nairoz climbed in the back, holding several bottles of alcohol. When they reached the cliff, Eric stepped out. Nairoz poured the alcohol over the corpse and the passenger seat, while Eric placed sticks soaked in liquor near the pedals. She lit the sticks, and he switched the car to automatic drive before closing the door. They had wedged a block of cement near the sensor so the car wouldn’t stop at the cliff’s edge. The vehicle rolled forward and plunged down, bursting into flames.
They fled the scene together. Eric tossed the gloves and coat into the nearest trash bin along the highway. After walking a while, they stopped a passing truck and returned home. Nairoz went straight to bed as if nothing had happened. Eric, meanwhile, went to his friend’s party and picked a fight—enough to leave witnesses. When the police arrived, they arrested him, giving him the perfect alibi.
He snapped out of his memories when he heard Nairoz’s voice calling from upstairs,
“Damn you, Eric! You’re still standing there? I’m done and coming down!”
He looked up and smiled. “Coming! Everything will be ready in seconds.”