The Wolf Who Cried Boy

10. Rosie

I'm afraid, dear reader, that if you were hoping this story would end happily – if you were hoping for a turning point where I discovered that Paul was a good guy and together we rode off into the sunset, I must sadly disappoint you.

There was no "happily ever after" and no turning point except the point where I turned on my heels and fled.

I knew at the precise moment Paul had revealed the ring that my worst fear had been realised. Paul had been lying to me all along and I had taken it all in – lapped it up like the gullible little puppy I am.

My head still spun wildly as I stood in the middle of my room. I felt as though I might faint. "Rosie," Mum's voice murmured as she knocked and poked her head around the door. "Are you alright? You left without giving Paul an answer."

I shook my head as waves of nausea washed over me again. But now I could master them. "I have to leave. I can't stay here."

Though still confused, Mum agreed that if I really felt I had to, I should leave. The sky was already beginning to grow dark, though, so I agreed to wait until morning. I refused to let anyone aside from my parents enter my room. Paul tried knocking once but left me in peace after that. I wouldn't talk to Paul. I wouldn't look at him. I didn't even want to see him. And I certainly had no inclination to marry him.

The sun rose behind dark clouds that next morning – making everything look dark and sinister. I had spent the previous evening piling every single one of my possessions into my suitcase until I would not close anymore. The only items I left were the pictures of Paul. I couldn't bear to look at that smug, forever-laughing face.

Everyone at Chateau Cherise was standing in the TV room as I followed my father who staggered under the weight of my suitcase. Paul's face seemed most pronounced as I passed the crowd. He looked miserable and desolate. But, I no longer felt pity for him. He had used me brutally. He opened his mouth to speak as I walked past but I beat him to it. "The answer is no," I said hardly stopping as I walked to the door.

This time, the drive to the little police station felt almost liberating. And the walk over the threshold revived the last of my senses, that the day before had seemed so dull and lifeless. I didn't notice the smashed glass this time and ignored the woman sitting at the wooden desk at the far end of the room. Instead, I walked with purpose through the second set of glass doors and into the passage, Paul’s bank statements and my own note in my hand held out in front of me.

I reached the door quickly and knocked with purpose. "Come," the voice called and I pushed the door open. Inspector Bridget was sitting in his chair as before, this time with his fingers on the keyboard of his computer and his eyes glued to the screen. He looked up when I entered. "Rosie," he exclaimed with some surprise in his voice. "Come in. Come in. What can I do for you?"

Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the chair I had occupied the day before. "Sorry to bother you, Inspector Bridget, but I have something to report." One of his eyebrows stretched upwards on his brow. And I plunged straight in to my story of Paul and his treachery. I held out the various bank statements and my own notes as I explained every detail to him.

I only took another proper breath again when I had finished my tale. "It's amazing how something small can spark such vivid memories that you thought had been long forgotten," I told Inspector Bridget with a nervous chuckle that shook in my voice.

Inspector Bridget didn't seem to hear my last statement. He was examining the two bank statements simultaneously and checking my hand-written note. "Well," he said putting down all the pages he held in his hand.

"Rosie, I suspect you would have made a fine detective. You've uncovered some aspects of this case that I hadn't even considered before. Thank you for your information." He gave a curt little bow.

I wasn’t sure whether that was my cue to leave. But, I found myself asking something that had been worrying me ever since my first visit to the police station and that I couldn’t help but ask. "I won't get into trouble for withholding evidence before or taking information without permission, will I?"

Inspector Bridget's head lifted sharply. "Get in trouble? Rosie, you've helped us crack this case." His piercing gaze softened. "If it wasn't for you, I'd still be searching for answers.” He smiled at me. "In fact, I think one good turn deserves another. You've given me many of the answers I've been searching for; now I should give you the last pieces of the puzzle you need."

I shifted in my seat as he leaned in. "I suppose this is the information, as Sarah found it yesterday morning when you were in the office?" He questioned, placing his hand down on the pile of papers he had just put down. I nodded. "Then you haven't seen the latest transaction. Last night, Sarah found out that a new transaction had taken place on that account. A sum of money had been transferred to the account of T. Brown, who we now know is an alias.

"The money was then used to buy two plane tickets. It wasn't easy and, at that stage, we weren’t sure that this purchase had anything to do with the Elliot case but we managed to track the transaction to the airline company and found out that Mr T. Brown had purchased one-way tickets to Peru for a Mr P. Valise and a Mrs R. Valise.”

I gasped covering my mouth with my hand. "Peru?" My suspicions of Paul just kept getting validated. "I can't believe how much I've been lied to," I shook my head.

"You might well be shocked," Inspector Bridget nodded. "But, I'm afraid there's even more." He lifted up the bank statement I had taken from Paul's room. "I don't know if you recognised the name Anderson on Paul's bank statement?”

I shook my head again. "No, that was the one anomaly I…"

At that point I gasped as another moment came where I felt like someone had turned the light on in the darkness of my mind. "Jack Jack," I whispered.

"Mm, quite," Inspector Bridget responded. "The lady that gave you so much grief at your place of business about her blind dog. She was the only name on the list that we were able to track down. We called her up and told her what was going on. She immediately confessed to us that Paul Valise had paid her to cause as much trouble as possible for you. She was to make unreasonable demands, be incredibly rude and even try and get you into legal trouble. It was all Paul's idea."

"But why?"

"You haven't figured that out?" Inspector Bridget returned. "The result of that interaction with Mrs Anderson was a spur-of-the-moment trip to Chateau Cherise."

"So, you're saying Paul planned it?"

"We believe he planned it all. He arranged for Mrs Anderson to cause trouble – I believe he was hoping to get you suspended for a while – which would mean that you would visit Chateau Cherise with the others. His plan didn't quite work out for the suspension but he still got you to go on holiday.

"Then he planned the accident. He decided not to travel with the rest of you but said he would get there on his own." My hand reached for my mouth again as Inspector Bridget nodded understandingly. "I can't tell you whether he faked the amnesia at first. He could really have had amnesia in the beginning. But, I know he hasn't still got amnesia. Some of the transactions are dated for this week and they're complicated transactions – not something that you can predetermine and leave to just happen. If he had really lost his memory, there came a moment when he regained it." Inspector Bridget turned thoughtfully in his seat. "I've just recently been reading about criminals who are able to cause memory loss in themselves – they plan to lose their memory. Then, with some kind of instant recall, they can quickly regain their memories once more. Perhaps Paul Valise did that."

"But why?" I repeated. "Why would he have done all this to me, to his parents?"

"I suspect," Inspector Bridget responded, "that Paul was getting ready to leave the country – start a new life after his bout of theft. And, I suspect he wanted someone to star a new life with. That was what the whole amnesia thing was. He was trying to garner your sympathy – get you on his side so that when he suggested running off to another country, you'd instantly agree. Too bad for him you suspected something before he got that ring on your finger."

"What happens now, though?" I asked, feeling like I was in a state of limbo.

Inspector Bridget cleared his throat. "Now we have enough evidence to apprehend Paul. We may need you as a witness when these felonies go to trial. But, other than that, you are perfectly free to go about your business – lead your normal ordinary life."

Except, I found myself unable to return to my normal, ordinary life.

Though Inspector Bridget and the entire Harrismith police force had arrived at Chateau Cherise only an hour later, Paul had left the area and they'd found it impossible to trace him. The incidents never went to trial and Paul remained at large with the entire South African police force on a man-hunt for him.

I couldn't stay in South Africa knowing that Paul was still at large – that he could still find me and try again to convince me of his innocence. I left the country a few months later – heading for greener, Paul-free, pastures.

Now two years later, I live in a small town in Sweden, called Gammelstad. It's far, far away from the hustle and bustle of daily city life, which suits me perfectly. I'd never really enjoyed the big-city life that came with living in Jo'burg or even Hartebeespoort. I spend my days treating the local pets and farm animals under my care. The days may be short and the nights long but it is a happy, peaceful place with a cold, beautiful sun shining down on all the historic buildings, making the place look as idyllic as it truly feels.

I realise that it might have been wrong to run away, to leave my parents behind. I know that you have to face your problems, rather than running from them. But, it was not my problems I was running away from. I was running from the memories. As long as I lived in South Africa amongst people who looked and spoke like Paul, there was no escaping him. Everywhere I turned Paul's face just seemed to haunt me. We had done so much, been to so many places together that every visit to an aquarium, a museum, a zoo even visiting my parents' home or being alone in my apartment brought back memories of Paul. Some may say I made a lucky escape when I did. But, having every good memory in your life suddenly tainted and being forced to abandon them just makes you wretched.

However away, I could forget – I could move on and start again on making new memories. Gammelstad may have been remote and lonely but it was good to get a fresh start. I no longer even really thought about Paul or what had gone on that last winter at Chateau Cherise. And the fresh air made me feel less wretched every day.

You may be wondering whatever happened to Paul.

I occasionally wonder that too. When the nights are cold and dark and I'm most lonely, I wonder, out of curiosity what ever happened to Paul. I'd heard that even Interpol couldn't find him, though they had had plenty of evidence to arrest him. He had disappeared. Rumours that he had left South Africa and was hiding out in Germany populated news broadcasts. But, some still be believed he was in South Africa – somewhere.

Paul may have disappeared from the face of the earth but the memories of his brutal betrayal still remain.

Still, I hardly think about Paul anymore these days anyways. Except, sometimes when the nights are dark, the moon is high and full and I hear the howling of a wolf in the distant trees. I listen and can almost hear Paul’s voice in the howl of the wolf. Then I pull the covers of my duvet up high and shut my eyes to the darkness as the wolf's howl seems to echo my name: "Roooooosie!"

The only trouble is there are no wolves anywhere near Gimmelstad.