Page 1 of Night and Day
Chapter 1
Miagazed up at St Patrick’s Cathedral, her mind burning with questions. Surely, if there was a God up there, those pointed gables piercing the blue sky served as connection points. She filled her lungs with the exhaust fumes of Auckland Friday afternoon traffic and scanned the momentarily empty footpath. This was her chance.
Adjusting the soft guitar case on her back, Mia propped her handbag on top of her suitcase, spread her arms, and closed her eyes. When you rarely prayed, it was best to make a gesture. She needed guidance. So far, her Eat Pray Love trip had only included eating. The way the waistband of her shorts dug into soft flesh bore testament to New York pizza, Hawaiian ice cream and Australian pies. This morning, she’d made it to Auckland, the last stop on her round-the-world journey, the furthest away from home she’d ever been. She’d have to fast for the rest of her journey to avoid those sideways glances from Mikko, her boyfriend of three years. He’d shake his head in disappointment at her lack of self-discipline. He’d made that same face when she hadn’t jumped at the chance to join his start-up company. She’d told him she needed time to think, insisting that this trip would give her clarity. A vision. Now, five days before her returning flight, she felt even more confused than before.
A shadow flickered somewhere to her side and she heard a rustle, just loud enough to rise above the traffic noise. What was it? Mia cracked her eyelids, checking her surroundings. The footpath seemed empty. She closed her eyes again, anticipation making her skin bristle. Was this one of those God moments? Nobody had called her by name, but maybe her faith wasn’t strong enough for manifestations like that. Maybe lapsed Lutherans only heard a rustling sound, like a broken radio.
Mia squeezed her eyelids tighter, focusing all her energy on the divine connection. There it was again. The rustle. She concentrated harder, letting the sun heat her face. The guitar case felt hot and heavy against her back, a perfect contrast to the chill that travelled up her bare legs.
No, it wasn’t only a chill. Something brushed her leg, making every hair on her body stand up. Okay, this was officially spooky. With her heart thundering in her chest, Mia opened her eyes and looked down. There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. In a fraction of a second, her brain registered what was wrong.
Her suitcase and handbag had vanished.
Mia whipped around and surveyed the street. The footpath was empty, but one car had stopped a few steps away. As her gaze landed on its silver frame, it tore off down the road, the back door slamming as it went. Mia ran after it, the guitar case flapping against her back, panic moving her feet before her brain caught up, but the car sped away, far out of her reach, running a red light in the distance.
After it finally disappeared behind a street corner, Mia thought of the licence plate. She hadn’t even glanced at it.
She had nothing.
Nothing but a cheap guitar in a soft bag and a stick of gum in its front pocket. Her handbag held her phone, laptop and wallet, and her suitcase all the rest. For no logical reason, she dug up the gum, storing it in the pocket of her micro shorts for safe keeping. In her flowery loose top, she wasn’t dressed for the weather. December – early summer in New Zealand – had greeted her with a cool breeze, a surprise after sweltering days in Australia, and she’d been contemplating changing into jeans. Well, too late now. The realisation arrived like a slowly building cascade, a slideshow of things she needed but no longer had.
Voi vittu!Mia cursed in her native tongue, Finnish, clenching her fists tight, looking for something to punch. She couldn’t even throw her handbag.
She walked in circles, the fury that had nowhere to go shaking her body, eventually fizzling out as her brain gradually accepted the new reality. There was no one around to receive her anger. Not knowing what else to do, she eventually sat in the shade of the church’s cast iron fence, her whole body shaking. A flush of panic and shame constricted her throat, stealing her breath. How could she have been so stupid? She’d let go of her bags and closed her eyes. It must have looked like she’d been advertising her belongings to any thief out there.
She’d only been in the country for two hours. Until this moment, she’d thought the food poisoning in Hawaii had been the low point of her journey. But no. She’d happily exchange this experience for two days of throwing up. To anything, really.
Nothing around her had changed; spring leaves in the trees across the road, the geometric pattern crisscrossing the footpath, the beige apartment buildings with their windows glinting in the bright sun. The storm cloud that brewed over her life wasn’t visible to anyone else. Occasional pedestrians scuttled past her, paying no attention. Hugging her chilled knees against her chest, Mia fought to fill her lungs, waiting for the familiar pain to fill her chest – the swell of emotion that burned somewhere deep inside but never rose to the surface, never escaped. She wasn’t sure how it had started, or why. Was she controlling her body or her body controlling her? Either way, she hadn’t cried in years.
Shivering to the bone, with nothing but her knees to hold on to, she ached for tears to blur her vision and wash away the shame. She hung her head, drawing in ragged breaths until her head felt light and woozy. The emotion only built up pressure and burning in her chest, offering no release. She had to get up and do something. She needed her rational brain – the one part of her, unlike the tear ducts, that still worked. In fact, she was known for her smarts, for her uncanny ability to keep cool under any circumstances. She was tiny and blonde but fierce, with a piercing pair of big blue eyes that usually missed nothing. This shouldn’t have happened to her. Anyone but her. But arguing with her fate changed nothing.
Mia straightened her spine, picked up her guitar, and surveyed the street. There must be a police station somewhere within a walking distance. She’d walk there and make her case. Maybe they could help her contact someone back home to send money and find out her insurance details. There had to be a way out of this mess.
Chapter 2
Izzyput down his guitar and sighed. He recognised the footsteps on the stairs, the sound of a client approaching. Henry, the 60-year-old non-profit CEO carrying a leather briefcase, ducked his head – which was never anywhere near hitting the beam – and stepped into the basement office.
