The Uncanny by Andrew Klavan

Author:Andrew Klavan [Klavan, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Horror
ISBN: 9780307791221
Publisher: Dell Books
Published: 2011-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

“ ‘My heart swims in blood because my legion of sins has made a monster of me in God’s holy eyes,’ ” she said wistfully. “How did you know it was my favorite?”

“Hey, with catchy lyrics like that, how could I go wrong?” he said.

He had put the CD of Bach cantatas on her stereo. Had selected it from between the oversized art books on the tall shelves. Sophia sat on the sofa and watched him, her smile ironical, her eyes defenseless. Now, as the soprano sang the lilting recitative—Mein herze schwimmt im blut weil mich der sunden brut in Gottes heilgen augen zum ungeheuer macht—he was moving from window to window, drawing the curtains closed. Despite her smile, he understood that she was in his hands now, had given herself over to him. He moved around her flat as if he owned it. Crossing the airy room to the fireplace. Kneeling to work the cock, to touch a match to the gas nozzle, bringing a low flame up between the panels of William Morris tiles. And she sat still, watched. Defenseless.

“It’s just like Laura—my sister—it’s just like her to have put them all back,” she said dryly, only a faint quaver of suppressed hysteria in her voice. “The CDs. I posted them to her before I … before I went to the gallery that night. She couldn’t just return them, you know. Everything had to be just as it was, so we wouldn’t have to talk about it.”

“You want a drink, you want another gin?”

He was at the little cherrywood cabinet in the corner now. Trying to figure out the latchwork hidden in the Asian-style carvings.

“No. No, I’ve had enough,” she said.

“Good. I can’t figure out how to open this thing anyway.”

The cushioned armchair was by the fire, across from the sofa, facing it. He went to it, sat there, to put some distance between them, to keep his mind as clear as he could. Still, she suddenly seemed awfully small and forlorn, all alone there on the sofa. Under the wide white wall between the windows. There was a large framed exhibition poster over her head. Two men looking off towards the moon, from a Berlin show of Caspar Friedrich. He thought of her picking the poster out, framing it, hanging it carefully. It made him sad for her, for her lonely life.

He leaned forward uncomfortably, working his hands together between his knees. “So …”he said.

“So she killed herself,” said Sophia, and laughed. “Which was a bit of a bore.”

“Ah, come on!” He went off so loudly, sat back so roughly in his chair that she winced. “ ‘A bit of a bore about dear Mother.’ Gimme a break here, Sophie-girl. Christ.”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to regroup, re-present herself, but only managed to look so lost to him that he wanted to fling himself at her feet. “It’s just we don’t … I’ve never really spoken to anyone about it.”

“Well, speak to me,” he said, more gently. “Just tell me.

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