The Mediator

The Mediator

A psychological thriller by Erica Pensini

 

Disclaimer:

This story is a work of fiction and all names, characters, and places are nothing but fantasy.

 

Thrillers by the same author:

The Missing Link

Forget Me Not

Lethal Discoveries

Chapter 1

In the broadness of my minimalistic living room the shadows of the dimming day wrap around my silhouette, black against the whiteness of the couch.

“Ms. Dawson…”, starts the journalist

“John, why don’t you call me Iris”, I say

The journalist is silent for a moment, before he replies, Sure Iris. His reply is accompanied by a brief laugher and a barely detectable tinge of embarrassment.

“Good”, I smile

John’s eyes elude mine for a moment, tracing unspoken questions in the empty space. I sit immobile, waiting for his words.

“You’ve written ten books worth millions of copies each”, he starts, “but the beginning of your first book is what always stroke me the most”

“Why?”, I ask

John knows, but he cannot tell me.

I see John brought the book with him, and I ask him to read the passage to me.

“Perhaps you could”, he says after a pause, handing me the book

I recite from memory instead, my eyes locked onto his.

I am not an object of desire because of who I am, but because there is something I know how to do better than anyone else. I show people their deepest desires, the ones they cannot get themselves to acknowledge.

Hold my hand as we head to hell, I know that’s where you want to be. It will seem so natural to go down that path when you and I walk side by side.

My innocence is infinite.

After I finish we sit silent for a moment.

“Why?”, I ask again

Instead of offering an answer John clears his throat and pulls out his notebook.

I smile and pour us drinks.

“Perhaps you want to hear the full story behind these words”, I say, as I patiently begin to weave the path to John’s answer.

 

Chapter 2

I had spent the day in a conference room, and I was ready to have some time on my own. I excused myself from the social activities planned for the evening and started heading to my hotel alone.

The fall chilled New York City. It could start pouring any moment, and passers-by hastily pushed their way forward, barely aware of each other’s presence. It was not a good day for walking, and I could have taken a cab. The streets were jammed though, and I relished the shuffles of wind ruffling my hair, they felt liberating after the atrophy in which the previous hours had plunged me.

But when I reached 5th Ave. hell suddenly broke loose, the slashes of rain fell hard, drenching me within minutes. I tried to hail a cab, but I couldn’t get anybody to stop for me. I silently cursed the drivers, and looked around for somewhere to shelter myself till the rain would subside.

There was a hotel at the corner. I stood at the entrance, monitoring the sky for some sign of respite from the downpour.

A man stepped out of a limousine, accompanied by a guy holding an umbrella over his head. I observed the scene, fascinated by the perfection of the man’s attire and disgusted by the way he strived to overstate his power. I smiled a sarcastic smile at the hidden weakness this overstatement implied.

The man noticed, and he was not the type to let go.

“Not a good day for walking, is it?”, he told me, stopping in front of me

I took my time to reply, a detached smile clinging on my lips.

“There are worse things in life than getting wet”, I said at last, my tone plain

The man’s light blue eyes scrutinized me, before locking onto my dark gaze. I could sense strength in the lightness of those cold eyes, and my smile warmed, yielding. For a moment I felt tenderness at the man’s Achilles heel.

“And there are better things than standing in front of a hotel, soaked to the bones. Be my guest for a drink”, he asserted

It didn’t seem strange to accept, so I did. And this is how it all started.

 

Chapter 3

My memories are so clear it could all be happening now.

Voices from the hotel restaurant are in the background. There’s only one other customer at the bar. The guy is hunched over a newspaper as he drinks, wrapped in a black trench coat. He looks in my direction every now and then, but I soon forget about his presence.

“Two gin tonics”, says the man, defining my choice

I approve with the flicker of a smile.

The man smiles back, the curved mouth hardened by his full control of the moment.

I observe the barista as he blends our drinks and I say “Iris Dawson”, without diverting my eyes or losing track of the barista’s moves.

“Iris Dawson is your name?”, the man asks, a frown of sudden surprise dissolving the hard edges in his smile

My gaze shifts towards him at the same time the barista places our drinks on the counter.

“Yes”, I reply

The man sips his drink and says “Rob Neilson”, while looking straight ahead

After a moment he turns towards me, staring me down with a resolute lack of expression. Then he suddenly smiles and shakes his head.

“You are strange”, he tells me

“What would you be doing now if you weren’t with me?”, I ask

“What would I be doing?”, Rob echoes back

I nod

“I’d be ordering dinner in my room and watching some show before organizing the documents for tomorrow”, he tells me

I nod again

“Why did you ask?”, Rob wants to know

“To understand why you are with me”, I say

Rob scrutinizes me, trying to grasp my intentions

“What do you mean?”, he insists, his arched brows marking the sarcastic façade he chooses to show me

“Why are we having drinks instead of dinner when we’re both hungry?”, I reply without thinking

The authenticity of the question shifts my perception of the moment.

I swing left and right on the stool while sipping the gin tonic, eyes smiling as my mouth clings onto the glass.

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Erica Pensini
Bildmaterialien: Erica Pensini
Lektorat: Erica Pensini
Übersetzung: Erica Pensini
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 19.02.2017
ISBN: 978-3-7396-9870-0

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